Ventus Aqua Terra Ignis 1/?
Title: Ventus Aqua Terra Ignis 1/?
Pairing: Harry/Draco/Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These characters are definitely not mine, nor is the Harry Potter Universe. I am only borrowing them for my own perverted amusement. No money is made.
Summary: Draco needs an O on his Potions N.E.W.T. to even think about a Potions Mastery, which means he has to go back to Hogwarts for the "eighth year." He has plans to keep his head down, stay out of trouble, and just survive. Enter the Golden Trio who decide that's a bad idea and drag Draco right into the middle of their secret.
A/N: Elemental fic. Lots of magic. Some misuse of magic because I'm pretty sure JK Rowling did not intend for magic to make sex kinky. There are some master/sub themes and some light bondage.
This belongs in the category of EWE (Epilogue? What Epilogue?). It is Book 7 compliant. Mostly. It's been a long time since I read book 7.
I wanted to wait until this was done to post it, but it's turning out to be much longer than I expected and I'm getting bored with not posting stuff. Enjoy!
This is cross-posted on my Ao3 "ddelusionall" account: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11926701/chapters/26956032
Part 1: Home Sweet Home
Draco sat as still as possible, back straight, knees perfectly bent, feet on the floor. He breathed only when he had to, soft inhales that sounded like a Sonorous had been cast in the quiet of the train compartment. He stared straight across at the garishly coloured fabric of the seat in front of him, eyes following the golden curls on the deep red background. Like a gold ribbon slipping through blood.
He swallowed when his breath threatened to stop.
The sounds of students rushing to find empty compartments faded to a few stragglers.
Waiting. Soon, just a few more bloody moments.
His fingers were ghostly white, clenched in fists atop his thighs.
When the train finally moved, Draco let out a long breath, one that stopped just as suddenly into a pained choking noise when the compartment door opened and ruined his little sanctuary.
“Malfoy, just the man I wanted to see.”
Draco snorted; he couldn’t help it.
Harry fucking Potter smiled at him and dropped into the seat next to him. To Draco’s dismay, the other two thirds of the Golden Trio sat in the seats across from them.
The door shut, and silence fell between them.
Potter leaned his head back against the seat and sighed. Almost in relief. “Felt your magic,” he muttered, “on the wards on the door. So against the rules, by the way, but if I can get peace and quiet anywhere, it’s going to be right here.”
An insult about Potter’s adoring public died on his lips. He did not know what to say to the man that had kept him and his mother out of prison. But he figured that insulting him was a bad idea. He had vowed that he would not rile Potter up, no matter the situation.
Awkward situation.
Draco’s fists relaxed enough to fiddle with the top of his fingers, clicking his nails in the silence.
Draco turned his head to look out the window, at the countryside whooshing by them on their way to Hogwarts. He suddenly felt that he was on his way to the gallows.
“I didn’t see you on the platform,” Potter said carefully.
Draco did not look at him. He felt his cheeks flush and said, “I was given permission to board the train closer to my home.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” Potter said. “Do you mind if I nap? I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”
Weasley snorted, but the sound was full of humor and affection.
“I do not really care what you do, Potter,” Draco said. His voice was softer than he wanted, but at least it wasn’t weak. He could do this. He could still be ... still be ... a Malfoy.
Even to him, that name felt dirty in his mind.
He spared a glance at the other two. Granger, just like Draco, already wore her school robes. She was wearing purple leggings underneath them. Her legs were crossed, a ballet flat bouncing off her ankle as she read. She had an old book on her knee, turning the pages with one hand. The other hand was clasped within Weasley’s, their fingers entwined.
Of course, they were dating. The rags and gossipmongers had Harry Potter breaking them up every other week or so.
Surprisingly, Weasley was dressed mostly decent, in a pair of well-fitted jeans and a brown jumper that looked much softer and more comfortable than the chair they were sitting on. He’d cut his hair short sometime since Draco’s trial, the ends spiked up. Like that, his hair looked less bright orange and more dark red. Almost like a dying fire.
Potter, as always, was a slob, in clothes too big for him and trainers with the laces untied. His mop of hair was longer, brushing his chin. But even in a baggy T-shirt, he looked fit.
“Malfoy, you read Ancient Runes, correct?” Granger said suddenly.
He glanced at her in surprise and failed to stop his sneer. “Of course, Granger.”
She leaned over the space between them and plopped the book on Draco’s knees. It was very old, held together by a charm that tingled at his fingertips.
“I cannot make sense of this passage.” She pointed to a section near the top of a page. “It is either talking about how to delicately prune and harvest trimonian berries, or it’s cautioning about their thorns of glass? Even using key words around it, I just cannot figure it out.”
Draco glanced down at the book, slipping his mind into the ancient alphabet that his father had made him study when he was only twelve. He read the entire page and realized with a start that it was an ancient potions book.
“Where did you get this book?” Draco asked.
Granger smiled. “I dragged these two louts to the middle of a desert in Turkey.”
“Merlin, do not bring that up,” Harry mumbled. “I had sand in my pants for weeks.”
“It was a lead on the recluse Diamber Whetle.”
Draco’s eyes went wide. “And you found?”
“A bit of a cave. She had obviously lived there. Only a few scrolls had been preserved. I found them in an alcove hidden by very strong magic. The scrolls were brittle and I had to be careful, so I turned them into this small book.”
“By the Gods, Granger. That witch is a legend. People have been searching for her papers for centuries.”
Granger smiled. “I will take that as a compliment. I’ve read it through this few times. You may read it now if you’d like. But can you tell me about that passage?”
Draco stared at her for a bit longer, and then cleared his throat and said, “There are symbols here I do not recognize, but I think your first assumption is correct. I do not think trimonian bushes have thorns, definitely not ones made of glass.”
“I never was good at herbology. I wonder if Neville will be at Hogwarts.”
“He said he might come later,” Potter said. “His grandmother is sick.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“Last week, I think.”
“You could have said.”
“I just did say.”
Hermione huffed.
Draco looked back down at the improvised book. He found himself reading it without meaning to. He started in surprised when Potter made a noise and huffed in his sleep. He glanced up, noting that more time had passed than he thought. Weasley was resting his head on the chair also, his long legs twisted around Potter’s in the space between them. Granger had pulled out a notebook, writing without glancing up.
It was ... normal. Which made Draco wary.
“So what gives?” Draco demanded, quietly to not wake up Potter or Weasley, though he should not have cared.
Granger glanced up at him with an eyebrow quirked. “What?”
Draco waved his hand around the compartment. “This ... why ... What the bloody fuck is this?”
Granger smiled. “Like Harry said, we won’t be disturbed here. Your wards on the door are really strong.”
“But you felt it.”
“Only Harry did. He’s connected to your magic a bit, from using your wand before. We weren’t sure if you were coming back to Hogwarts or not. I think you’re the only eighth-year Slytherin.”
Draco looked out the window again. “I am. But ... this ... just. I broke Potter’s nose the last time we were in the same train compartment.”
Granger’s smile widened. “True, but that was ... well maybe just a couple years ago, but it feels like a lifetime ago. If you’d like us to hex you and trade insults, we could do that too, and we will leave if you want us to, but it’s been a long time since we’ve been able to just relax.”
She went back to her notes.
Draco stared at her a little longer and looked back down at the book. Confused. But not about everything. Before leaving home, he had vowed to make a truce with the Golden Trio.
“You don’t have to leave,” Draco said, glaring at the window.
“Thank you.”
Time passed with the trees flowing beyond the window.
“If you want the snack cart to stop here, you better let down your wards for a moment,” Granger said. “Unless you want those hexes. Harry will be upset if he doesn’t get any chocolate.”
Draco fought a smile, but did as she suggested and let down his wards. A few minutes later, Potter and Weasley woke up as the cart rumbled by. The quiet destroyed, Draco turned his head to the window and listened to the pair bicker about the best kind of chocolate.
Someone nudged him.
He kept the glare off his face, though barely.
“You want one?” Potter asked, his own lips polkadotted with chocolate. He smiled and held out a chocolate bar.
He thought of refusing, met Granger’s eyes, and knew that he could not. A chocolate bar of peace? It was better than nothing.
“Maybe a bit,” Draco said.
Potter snorted. “A bit? We’re still teenagers and allowed to be immature and love chocolate. Here, have half.” And Potter ripped open the bar, broke it in half, and gave Draco the part still in the wrapper. The other half disappeared into his mouth.
Draco muttered a thank you and broke off a square. It was not Belgian chocolate or fancy French decadence, but the sweet bite on his tongue tasted good.
The chattering of the other three quieted to a faint drone.
Draco immersed himself in the book, reading ancient ingredients and directions for making potions that were probably highly illegal. Like a skin-eating potion. The introduction mentioned something along the lines of using it to cure some disease from long ago, but into today’s modern society ... a potion like that was enough to have his skin crawling.
In the wrong hands ...
“Thank the Gods,” Draco muttered.
“What?” Potter asked from next to him.
Startled, Draco glanced at the three of them. They had not moved, but looked ... more comfortable. Weasley’s jumper was gone, thrown over Granger’s legs. His white T-shirt was form fitting and that was so not on. How did the Weasel get to be so strong? Granger was leaning against him, his arm thrown around her shoulders. He glanced down, at the way Potter and Weasley’s socked feet were tangled around each other, Weasley’s foot almost shoved up one of Potter’s pantlegs.
“Nothing just ...” Draco swallowed and looked back at the book.
“The skin-eating one?” Granger asked.
Draco nodded. “It’s ...”
“Disturbing,” she finished. “Indeed.”
“Can we skip dinner?” Weasley asked suddenly.
Both Granger and Potter looked at him like he had lost a few Knuts.
Weasley smiled and shoved at Potter’s leg with his foot. “Seriously. You want to walk into the Great Hall like everything is normal?”
Potter made a face and then nodded. “No, but I have to.”
“If there’s a line for your autograph, do not expect me to stay,” Draco said. Almost dralwed. Perfect. Yes. Normal. Like everything was normal.
Except Weasley laughed. At Draco’s joke. That was not normal.
And Potter shoved him with his shoulder and called him a git under his breath, but there was absolutely nothing but humor in his voice.
“You know we have to, guys,” Granger said. “Headmistress McGonagall asked us to be there.”
Potter sighed and leaned back again with his eyes shut. “Fucking bloody wanker of a Savior of the wizarding world.”
Draco laughed, cutting it off when Potter smiled. He opened one eye and said, “You and I both agree on one thing, Malfoy. I fucking hate the Boy Who Lived.”
Draco swallowed. Granger pursed her lips, but she stayed silent, which meant this was not the first time Potter had said something like that.
“I wouldn’t say hate,” Draco said carefully. “Despise, maybe. Abhor, even. But not hate.”
Potter laughed. “Abhor. I like that word. I abhor you, Malfoy.”
“Likewise, Potter.”
“Harry,” Granger said.
“Don’t worry, ‘Mione. I abhor you too.”
Weasley laughed. “You love me.”
Potter’s face softened in the strangest way. His mouth curling in a small smile. His eyes stayed shut, but the tightness around the corners melted away. There was a sound of cloth moving again, and this time it was Potter, running a socked foot up Weasley’s leg. Weasley gripped his ankle and pulled his foot into his lap. Potter sighed and lifted both feet into his lap, twisted a bit uncomfortably in his seat, but he didn’t move, smiling with his eyes shut as Weasley rubbed his feet.
Draco swallowed. In the silence, he said, voice almost a whisper. “I don’t hate you, Potter.”
“I know that.”
“I ... Thank you.” Draco squeezed his eyes shut, hands in fists on his knees again. “Thank you. For ... the Room of Requirement. For ... my trial. My mother. I ... just thank you.”
His shoulder was bumped again. “Anytime,” Potter said. “Apparently I have a hero complex.”
Draco smiled tightly and turned his face away, watching the trees flash by. The tightness in his throat only went away when the other three said nothing else to him. He managed to concentrate on the book again. Silence settled between them. Both Potter and Weasley went back to sleep until Granger reminded them that they needed to put on their robes.
Potter took something from his pocket, dropped it on the ground, waved a hand at it with a small word, and a moment later, there was a trunk between them, pushing up against Draco’s knees.
“Shite, Potter.” Draco hated himself for the wide look on his face. Potter hadn’t used a wand.
Potter smiled over at him. “Oh, sorry. Watch your feet.”
“Thanks for this,” Weasley said and flung his legs over the top of it, settling back into the chair. “Way more comfortable.”
“Ronald Weasley,” Hermione said.
Weasley grinned. “Hermione Granger-Weasley.”
“I’m not married to you yet, you big oaf. Get your robes on.”
Potter pulled the top of the trunk open, moving Weasley’s feet. “Shite, nothing stayed where it was supposed to,” Potter said.
“You forgot the sticking charm again,” Granger almost sang, looking back down at her notebook.
“Ugh, why didn’t you remind me?”
“Now, maybe you’ll learn because you have such a mess to clean up.”
Curious, Draco peeked over. It was full of things that were just as miniaturized as the trunk had been. A shrinking spell inside a shrinking spell? That was ... almost impossible. At least, in theory. The inner shrinking spell was said to wear off sooner, breaking apart the outer shrinking spell.
Potter sighed and held his hand over the mess. “Accio Ron’s school robe.”
A tiny black thing flapped into the air. Potter caught it, no bigger than the palm of his hand. He flung it at Weasley, waved his hand at it, and a full-sized robe ended up covering Weasley’s head, who made a shout of protest.
Potter chuckled and said, “Accio my school robe.”
On its way out of the trunk, Potter flicked his fingers, and it expanded before Draco’s eyes.
“Circe’s tits,” Draco muttered.
“Malfoy,” Hermione said, in that same tone used to reprimand Weasley.
“Sod off, that is ... how ... why are you even coming back to school?”
Potter re-shrunk the trunk and returned it to his pocket. He stood up to slide on his robe. Smiling, he plopped back next to Draco. “Charms are pretty easy for me. But Potions?” He snorted. “Apparently, I also need to study Ancient Runes if I want to be a Cursebreaker, and Madam Hooch asked me to be an assistant Quidditch teacher.”
“You are awfully terrible at Potions,” Draco said.
“Aw, now you’re just being nice to me.”
“What about you two?” Draco said, trying not to smile.
“I can always use help with Potions,” Granger said, and Weasley nodded.
“I’m horrible at Transfiguration,” Weasley added.
“We’re just like you,” Potter said and actually patted Draco’s knee. “I doubt you need any help with Potions, but your Herbology ...”
Draco snorted. “Why study that when I have gardeners at the Manor?”
“My point exactly, you git,” Potter said with a smile and another shoulder bump.
The trained started to slow.
Draco closed the old book and held it out for Granger.
“Keep it,” she said. “I know you want to finish it. The eighth years are all sharing a tower, so you’ll be able to return it easily.”
Draco swallowed and nodded his thanks. He carefully slipped the book into the small bag of necessities he carried. His trunk was at the back of the train with the others. Draco waited for the other three to stand, before doing so himself. He picked the moment right as the train stopped and he almost fell into Granger.
She laughed and kept him steady, a firm hand on his stomach. Her fingers squeezed before releasing him.
He flushed, but did not curse her like he would have ... only a year ago. A year ago, this entire train ride never would have happened.
“Fuck, Malfoy, how tall are you?” Potter suddenly asked.
Draco glanced at him. Down at him. He cleared his throat, noting that the top of Potter’s head was just about even with his nose. He actually looked Weasley in the eye now.
“Um, almost one eighty.”
“Ha. I still got a few centimeters on you,” Weasley said.
“Fuck, ‘Mione.”
Granger frowned, and in a heartbeat, had Potter wrapped up in a hug. There was a brush of wind that felt like ... no smelled like ... nothing, but it was something that reminded Draco of being refreshed. Clean. And then Potter was breathing heavily against her neck.
Draco glanced at Weasley, eyebrows raised in question.
“Don’t worry about it,” Weasley said and clapped him on the shoulder.
Granger led Potter out of the compartment and into the rush of students. Weasley followed, but stopped at the door. He looked back over at Draco.
“You coming, Ferret?” he asked, smiling. Actually smiling. At him. At Draco Malfoy.
Draco shook his head. “Wait ... I was going to wait ... until the train was empty.”
Weasley rolled his eyes, reached over to him and hauled him out into the hallway. “Bugger that.”
“Ronald, watch your language,” Granger said from somewhere in front of them. “Children.”
And yes, there were children. Lots of children that stared up at Potter and at Weasley. And at him.
Draco found himself in front of Weasley, between him and Granger, who had her hands on Potter’s shoulders, keeping him moving.
As more students caught sight of them, silence rippled all the way to the front of the train. Draco had wanted nothing more than to just slide through the train, be silent, get the last carriage, not draw attention to himself, and here he was, between the Golden Trio. Subjected to stares, wonderment, venom, and a hex that flew dark purple at his face but was blocked by a shield of blue from Granger’s hand. The hex did not rebound, but was sucked into the shield with a small pop.
“That is enough of that,” Granger said, her voice loud in the silence. “No Hogwarts student deserves a slashing hex. Ever. The Headmistress will hear about this and the magical signature will be traced back to whoever threw it. You may save yourself the time and confess to Professor Flitwick as soon as we get off the train and perhaps you won’t be immediately expelled. Now move.”
And the students moved, Draco pushed along the wave, with Weasley’s strong presence behind him. He kept his head down, eyes on the bushy curls that were only kept in place in a tight band at Granger’s neck.
Outside the train, the long line of thestral-drawn carriages awaited them. Draco felt herded, between Granger and Weasley with Potter leading the way. And he also felt thankful. Again.
The inside of the carriage was quiet, blocking out the noise of the students still mulling about outside.
Potter sat across from him, pulling up his legs, resting his face at his knees, arms around his shins. His eyes shut. Breath a bit short. Draco narrowed his eyes and reached to touch his knee. Weasley stopped his hand just short of brushing over the exposed jeans.
“Don’t touch him right now,” Weasley whispered. “He’s okay.”
Draco snorted, but took his hand back. It felt very strange to be concerned about Potter.
“He will be okay,” Granger said. She slammed the door of the carriage with a finality that had Draco jumping in surprise.
“That was a nasty hex,” Weasley said.
“Thank you for stopping it,” Draco said to Granger.
“Anytime, Malfoy. House animosity and squabbles seem perfectly ridiculous when we are all on the same side. We are all here to get an education, and I will stop anyone that tries to keep me from that.”
Weasley leaned close and mock-whispered, “She only stops studying to fuck.”
Draco snorted out an incredulous laugh, unable to keep the smile off his face.
“Fuck you, Ron.”
“Okay. I told you before I wanted to skip dinner.” Once again, he stretched out as he could, hands laced behind his head, and he smiled.
Draco noted the bulk on Weasley’s forearms shown as his robes slipped up. He remembered the breadth of his shoulders in his T-shirt and the way the jeans had fit him so well.
He cleared his throat. “So um ... besides Turkey, what have you three been doing since ... I last ...”
“Since your trial?” Hermione said and shrugged. “Turkey was the extent of the experience. We helped rebuild parts of Hogwarts. Mostly laid low. It’s been ... well, I don’t need to tell you that it’s been rough with the trials and funerals and all the attention Harry has been getting.”
Draco cleared his throat and nodded. He’d been so starved for information on the Boy Who Saved His Life, that he ended up scouring the Prophet every day for a mention of him. There was always at least one picture of Potter at funerals or coming in and out of the Ministry.
“What about you?” Weasley asked. “No more grand parties?”
“Ronald, be nice.”
“Hey, that was nice. I didn’t ask him if he’s been torturing children.”
Draco flushed and looked away.
“Ron,” Potter whispered. “Come on.”
Weasley dropped his arms and put his own elbows on his knees, hands flexing where they hung in the air. He took a few deep breaths. “I am not going to apologize, Malfoy, but I’m ... I’m willing to push away old grudges. I am. It’s just ... Fred ...”
“Your brother,” Draco said, remembering that one of them had died. “I know. I ... I don’t know what to say. Sorry.”
“Don’t say anything,” Weasley said. “You didn’t kill him, and I’m only angry at the things that the Death Eaters stood for. Or some sort of shite like that. Right, ‘Mione?”
“Yes, some sort of shite like that.”
“Most of what you did was because you didn’t know any better or to protect your family,” Weasley continued. “Or so Harry says. I promised him and I promised ‘Mione that as long as you were civil and friendly, then I would be civil and friendly. Unless you try to kill me again.”
Draco swallowed. “I’m ... I ...”
“We know,” Granger said patiently and actually reached over to pat his knee. “You don’t need to apologize again. You have already today and you did after your trial.”
"I have no desire to fight anymore.”
“I doubt that,” Potter said. “Shown a need, you’ll draw your wand.”
“As will the three of you.”
“Damn straight,” Weasley said and then held out his hand sideways for Draco. “Truce?”
Draco nodded and did not hesitate in taking it.
The scrutiny increased as they climbed from the carriages and headed up and into the castle. It was the quietest Draco had ever remembered the first night of school being. The younger students whispered in groups. Some of the older students glared, some just pondered. A few said hello to the Golden Trio, those from their House.
The Great Hall looked as it always did on the first day of classes, bright from the floating candles. Tables stretched in four rows up to the front where the professors sat, Headmistress McGonagall in the middle.
“Over there,” Granger said and pointed.
There were two tables near the ends of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. A placard rested between the two tables that said, “EIGHTH YEARS.”
“Our own table?” Draco questioned.
Granger shrugged and plopped herself right in the middle of it. Draco sat across from her. Weasley sat next to Granger, and Potter looked conflicted for a moment before sitting next to Draco.
“The Headmistress wanted to make sure that all the students knew who we were,” Granger said. “Apparently we’re the first step to House Unity and respect.”
“Gods among men,” Draco said sagely.
Weasley laughed. At Draco’s joke. Again. It was all so surreal.
Students filed in around them and chatter rose as friends reconnected from the previous years. There were only seventeen eighth years. Draco was the only Slytherin, as he expected. Most were Gryffindors, including Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. He recognized Hufflepuffs Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley; and Ravenclaws Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot. The Patil Twins joined their table with another girl wearing Gryffindor robes.
If they all had to share a tower, he was going to have to learn the rest of their names eventually.
Glances and glares came their way more than once.
“All right, Malfoy?” Goldstein asked, sitting in the spot next to him on his other side.
Draco would have sneered. Before. But the truce he made with Weasley extended to them all. He understood that.
“Just fine, Goldstein. You?”
Goldstein did not miss a beat. “It’s been a rough break, but I suppose that’s true for all of us. I’m actually looking forward to blowing up a potion even if it means blisters all over my hands, just for the normalcy of classes, you know?”
Draco nodded. “I do not know what it feels like to blow up a potion,”-- He heard snickers around the table, but it was true. --“but yes. The normalcy of classes will be ... well, more normal than sharing a meal with you lot.”
A few backs stiffened, but Weasley leaned forward and said, “Don’t worry too much, Malfoy. Most of us do know how to use a fork.” He winked.
“Thank Merlin.”
Weasley laughed and the students were called to order. Draco glanced up at the head table. There was a bundle of nervous looking first years pressed together. McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on its stool. A moment later, it started singing:
It’s all a rather daunting thing,
Making up the songs I sing
But on this day of firsts for some
Remember where we all came from.
Remember on your first day here
Quaking in your robes in fear
Praying for your favorite House
Placed in the best, not the worst.
We have learned in a year
There is no best
There is no worst.
We have learned in a year.
Pain for some.
Love for all.
Remember tripping on the stairs
Learning which ones disappeared.
Remember rushing to classes late
And off to Hogsmeade for a break.
Remember reading books and work.
Stretching out the last few words
To make your essay long enough
Remember what once was tough.
Our famous founders were friends
Godric and Rowena
Helga and Salazar
They built this home and made me pure
To separate you into groups
Groups to work together
Groups to learn together.
Groups to remember.
Two years ago, Draco would have rolled his eyes at the song.
But he remembered. And by the looks on the faces of those that shared his eighth-year table, so did they. For most, that is why they came back.
McGonagall read off the name of the first boy.
“Adam Adams!”
“Blimey,” Weasley muttered. “His parents must have hated him.”
“Shut up, Ronald Bilius,” Granger whispered back, pulling snickers from the others around them.
Bilius, Draco mouthed at Potter.
Potter smiled widely, the haunted look from before draining from his face.
The Hufflepuffs cheered for Adam Adams, even those at the eighth-year table.
“We cheer for them all,” Granger suddenly said, leaning forward to address everyone at their table. “All of them.”
A few grumbled, but when the next girl became a Slytherin, the eighth-year table cheered the loudest, actually startling the other Slytherins silent for a moment, and then they cheered louder.
After that, every student was cheered by the eighth years, though the Gryffindors did cheer louder for when the student was actually put in Gryffindor and only politely applauded for the Slytherin students.
Draco caught the Headmistress smiling.
As soon as the last student was sorted into Slytherin, McGonagall stood up and used magic to amplify her voice.
“This year will be difficult for many of us. Standing as your Headmistress is an honor for me, and I wish for you to turn the pride shown toward your Houses to pride shown toward Hogwarts. This year, more than any year before, demands a strong sense of unity. We will help one another. We will support one another. This means that if you have grievances, you talk about them. This means that there will be no bullying. This means that you will help someone from a rival House just as quickly as you would help your housemate. I am aware of the incident on the train, where one student attempted to hex another with a strong slashing curse. This is unacceptable. Such antics will result in immediate expulsion for the student. Fighting between us only makes everyone’s lives miserable. We are all here for the same thing: to learn, to grow, to rebuild.
“If you have any issues with the things I have said, you may come and talk to me about them so we can work them out. We have a Mind Healer from St. Mungo's available for anyone that wishes to talk to him about whatever they wish.
“That said, the Houses will still earn and lose points. We will still have Quidditch--” Cheers erupted from this, and McGonagall smiled. “--and we will still have a House winner at the end of the year. The last thing I will discuss is our returning eighth-year students. They were unable to attend classes last year for obvious reasons and they have chosen to return to finish their work. They will be studying hard for their N.E.W.T. exams. I expect the rest of you to respect that. Do not expect them to help you break the rules.” --
Most heads turned toward Potter and Weasley, and Weasley chuckled.
-- “Do not pester them with questions about their part in the war. Do not pester them with hero-worship and other such nonsense. They are students, the same as you, and all will be held to the same expectations. Now, let’s eat.”
Draco kept his head down during dinner, only replying to direct questions, though those were few and far between. He listened to the others talk about being home during the war, not here at Hogwarts, not in the midst of it all. Granger mentioned their trip to Turkey even if she did not discuss finding Diamber Whetle.
Draco was very thankful when dinner was done and they were allowed up to their dorms. McGonagall may have said no one was allowed to hex him, but he certainly felt their glares.
The eighth-year dorms were about halfway up the Astronomy Tower. Not Draco’s favorite place, considering the failure of his past.
New beginnings, he reminded himself.
Their portrait hole was guarded by the painting of a Centaur.
“Did anyone get a password?” Macmillan asked.
Most of them chuckled.
“I’ll go back and get it from McGonagall,” Granger said.
“No need, my magical friend,” the Centaur said. “I have a riddle for you all, if you guess, you will pass. If you fail, well, you will need to retrieve the password.”
Potter grumbled next to Draco. “I hate stupid magical creature’s confusing riddles.”
“What is the riddle?” Granger asked.
“While not the brightest, its point still shines, to guide you through the southern seas, and if explorations aren’t your thing, perhaps you’d like a cup of tea?”
“Sagittarius,” Draco almost drawled. “The constellation.”
The centaur looked insulted, but the portrait swung open and let them all inside. Draco received a few, “Good one, Malfoy”s and “Well done”s.
Potter said, “Wow. Even before Hermione.”
“Centaurs love a good star riddle,” Draco said. “It was obvious.”
They all stopped in the middle of a very interesting common room. It was a circular room with a four-sided fireplace right through the middle of it, straight up a few stories to the roof. Giant banners from every House hung from the ceiling and the furniture looked like it was borrowed from all four houses too. There were multiple tables for studying and a few shelves along the walls.
Two spiral staircases arched and branched through the room, leading to doorways above them.
As they stared, names appeared above each door.
“Room assignments?” one of the girls asked.
“Must be,” Hermione said. “Hannah, looks like I’m with you.”
Others glanced around, looking for their partners.
Draco saw his name glow silver, right next to Harry Potter glowing an interesting shade of bright green.
Weasley frowned at Potter. “My name is with Neville’s. I guess that means he is coming. But he isn’t here yet. Do you want to room with me until then or will you be okay with the snake?”
Once again, at the insult, the others stiffened, expecting a curse. But Draco knew it wasn’t really an insult. Maybe it was one, but within their new truce, it was one that he could get away with. Draco didn’t care. He happened to like snakes.
But Potter only smiled and said, “You know I’m good with snakes.” He winked at Weasley, who laughed, and so did a few others that picked up on the sexual joke. “It’s fine, Ron. I’m probably the only one here who isn’t going to kill him just on principle.”
“Comforting,” Draco said, glancing around at the others.
“He’s mostly right,” Dean Thomas said. “I don’t want to be expelled. Oi! Justin! Our room’s up at the top. Let’s go.”
Draco followed Potter up the left staircase to the third door. It opened to a spacious room with two large beds on either side and a pair of wardrobes on the walls. A single window separated the two beds with a single desk underneath it. Another door led to a small bathroom, complete with their own shower and toilet.
“Not bad,” Draco said. “Which bed do you want?”
“The one that you’ll be sleeping in,” Potter said and smiled at him. He laughed at the astonished look on Draco’s face. “It doesn’t matter. Just pick one.”
Draco took the bed on the left, Harry the one on the right.
Draco’s sheets were silver, the bedspread and hangings blue. Potter’s bed had pale cream sheets and a darker blue, almost black, bedspread and hangings. Draco dragged his trunk over to the foot of the bed.
“Blimey I’m tired,” Potter said and pulled off his school robe. The baggy T-shirt rode up with it, showing pale scars crisscrossing darker skin.
Draco swallowed and glanced away. “You slept most of the way on the train. How can you be tired?”
Potter removed his shrunken trunk from his pocket and tossed it at the end of the bed. It grew to normal size before hitting the floor. Things clattered inside of it. “Long day yesterday is all. I didn’t sleep much at all last night. Shite, I had no idea we were going to be in separate rooms. I have most of Ron’s stuff in there. I better get it organized before I sleep because I am not going to want to do it tomorrow and have to wake up earlier than necessary.”
Draco unpacked as well, standing up his trunk and opening it next to the wardrobe. He transferred what clothes he needed into the wardrobe.
“Blimey, are those jeans?” Potter asked. “You own a pair of jeans?”
Draco rolled his eyes and held out a stack. “Four pair. If it makes you feel less surprised, they were handmade by our family tailor just for me.”
“Man, even name-brand isn’t good enough for you.”
“Right in one.” Draco stacked his school books on his mattress for a moment. He unpacked all the other necessary things and then closed his trunk, put it back at the foot of the bed and stacked his school books atop it.
“All kidding aside, Malfoy. I’m glad you’re back. I’m glad ... I’m glad. Just ... never mind. I will stop talking before I say something stupid.”
Draco cleared his throat. “I’m glad I’m back too. I’m ... yeah.” He sat on his bed and tried not to listen to Potter rummage around in his trunk.
“I am going to give Ron some of his stuff, at the least the stuff I managed to find. You want to come down and hang out?”
Draco swallowed and shook his head. “Not tonight.”
“Okay. I won’t push. But don’t be a recluse. You have no reason to hide up here. You are not an enemy. Not to me. Not to Ron. Not to Hermione. The others will come around.”
Draco nodded. “Maybe.”
With a soft sigh, Potter left the room. With a heavier sigh, Draco fell back onto his bed.
---
Draco was still awake when Potter stumbled into the bedroom past midnight. He said nothing, smiling in the dark when Potter ran into the trunk first and then the bed post. His curses echoed through the room. A faint green glow illuminated the room.
Draco turned his head.
Floating among the hangings of Potter’s bed was a ball of green light. It was the same green color as when Potter’s name appeared above the door.
“Shite, did I wake you?” Potter asked quietly. “Sorry.”
“I was not asleep.”
The green light flared a little brighter.
“Are you pissed?”
Potter chuckled. “No. Just ... tired. Really.” He pulled off his T-shirt. The green glow on his skin looked sickly. Bruises smattering over his neck and shoulders and down his chest glowed almost black in the light.
“Are those love bites, Potter? Already?”
Potter cleared his throat. He was probably blushing. “Long night last night, remember?”
Draco thought about that. Potter had arrived at the train with Granger and Weasley. He had most of Weasley’s stuff in his trunk. On the train, his and Weasley’s legs had been wrapped together.
Were they together? Potter and Weasley?
But Granger had been holding Weasley’s hand.
“Should I ask?” Draco finally said in the silence.
“Ask what?”
“If it was the Weasel biting you?”
Potter stilled in the light for a moment and then shucked off his jeans, leaving him in pants and socks. The socks came off. Potter was fit. Short, but fit. Strong shoulders, strong arms. A trim waist. Not nearly the slip of a boy he had been before the war.
The green light disappeared.
Draco figured that Potter was not going to answer his question. He understood. It had been incredibly personal. One day of not fighting nor arguing did not mean they were going to reveal all their secrets to each other. He lay back, arms behind his head and tried to relax. It was so hard to relax in a place that was not the safety of his own home. Or that of the dungeons. He was used to the cooler air and the pure darkness. His silk pajamas felt too stifling all of a sudden. He glanced over at Potter’s bed. Well, he was sleeping in just his pants.
Draco unbuttoned the pajama top. He tightened his stomach enough to sit up and slip it off his shoulders and onto the floor. He kept the bottoms on.
“Would it bother you if I said yes?” Potter asked in the silence.
Draco took a moment to remember the question he had asked before. Bother him? Definitely not. Wizards were not really supposed to be gay, but there were a few of them out there. Draco had no problems at all appreciating a male body and had spent more nights in his Slytherin dorm appreciating his housemates’ cocks than he really cared to admit. At least to anyone else.
“No, it wouldn’t bother me,” he whispered. “Does it bother Granger?”
Potter huffed. “Only when she isn’t around to join.”
“So the Golden Trio is really a trio? In everything?”
“Things were ... rough. On our own. In the woods while we were chasing Voldemort. We sought solace with one another and found it.”
Draco hummed. “Lucky, I guess, to find one person you connect with so well. And you have two. Are you sure you don’t want to room with Weasley for a while? I won’t be insulted.”
Potter actually laughed. “I need to sleep. I know what happens when I’m in a room alone with Ron and it isn’t sleep.”
Draco let himself picture that. Let himself picture the two of them together, Weasley’s long, tall, strong body splayed out for Potter, straddling him, fucking himself on Weasley’s prick. Maybe it was the other way around, though Weasley seemed way more of a top than a bottom.
A few years ago, it would not have been sexy, but Weasley had grown into himself, gotten height and muscle and a swagger that screamed satisfaction. Did those freckles cover everything? Draco wondered.
And Potter. Well, Potter had always been attractive in that sloppy sort of way.
“What about you, Malfoy?”
“What about me?”
“Anyone warming your bed sheets?”
Draco snorted. “Not since fifth year. Sixth year was a mess, and then ... well, after that, it was more of a chore staying away from Death Eaters that thought I was fair game.”
Potter hummed. A noise that was half understanding and half horror.
“I was not ever raped. I learned to stay out of their way. Self-preservation and all that.”
“Self-preservation and yet, you decided to come back to school?” The incredulousness in his voice made Draco smile.
“Point, but I need an O on my Potions N.E.W.T. in order to even think of becoming a Potion Master. Without that, I cannot get the proper paperwork from the Ministry to open my own shop.”
Potter yawned.
“Sleep, Potter. We have class way too early in the morning.”
.
Pairing: Harry/Draco/Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These characters are definitely not mine, nor is the Harry Potter Universe. I am only borrowing them for my own perverted amusement. No money is made.
Summary: Draco needs an O on his Potions N.E.W.T. to even think about a Potions Mastery, which means he has to go back to Hogwarts for the "eighth year." He has plans to keep his head down, stay out of trouble, and just survive. Enter the Golden Trio who decide that's a bad idea and drag Draco right into the middle of their secret.
A/N: Elemental fic. Lots of magic. Some misuse of magic because I'm pretty sure JK Rowling did not intend for magic to make sex kinky. There are some master/sub themes and some light bondage.
This belongs in the category of EWE (Epilogue? What Epilogue?). It is Book 7 compliant. Mostly. It's been a long time since I read book 7.
I wanted to wait until this was done to post it, but it's turning out to be much longer than I expected and I'm getting bored with not posting stuff. Enjoy!
This is cross-posted on my Ao3 "ddelusionall" account: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11926701/chapters/26956032
Part 1: Home Sweet Home
Draco sat as still as possible, back straight, knees perfectly bent, feet on the floor. He breathed only when he had to, soft inhales that sounded like a Sonorous had been cast in the quiet of the train compartment. He stared straight across at the garishly coloured fabric of the seat in front of him, eyes following the golden curls on the deep red background. Like a gold ribbon slipping through blood.
He swallowed when his breath threatened to stop.
The sounds of students rushing to find empty compartments faded to a few stragglers.
Waiting. Soon, just a few more bloody moments.
His fingers were ghostly white, clenched in fists atop his thighs.
When the train finally moved, Draco let out a long breath, one that stopped just as suddenly into a pained choking noise when the compartment door opened and ruined his little sanctuary.
“Malfoy, just the man I wanted to see.”
Draco snorted; he couldn’t help it.
Harry fucking Potter smiled at him and dropped into the seat next to him. To Draco’s dismay, the other two thirds of the Golden Trio sat in the seats across from them.
The door shut, and silence fell between them.
Potter leaned his head back against the seat and sighed. Almost in relief. “Felt your magic,” he muttered, “on the wards on the door. So against the rules, by the way, but if I can get peace and quiet anywhere, it’s going to be right here.”
An insult about Potter’s adoring public died on his lips. He did not know what to say to the man that had kept him and his mother out of prison. But he figured that insulting him was a bad idea. He had vowed that he would not rile Potter up, no matter the situation.
Awkward situation.
Draco’s fists relaxed enough to fiddle with the top of his fingers, clicking his nails in the silence.
Draco turned his head to look out the window, at the countryside whooshing by them on their way to Hogwarts. He suddenly felt that he was on his way to the gallows.
“I didn’t see you on the platform,” Potter said carefully.
Draco did not look at him. He felt his cheeks flush and said, “I was given permission to board the train closer to my home.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” Potter said. “Do you mind if I nap? I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”
Weasley snorted, but the sound was full of humor and affection.
“I do not really care what you do, Potter,” Draco said. His voice was softer than he wanted, but at least it wasn’t weak. He could do this. He could still be ... still be ... a Malfoy.
Even to him, that name felt dirty in his mind.
He spared a glance at the other two. Granger, just like Draco, already wore her school robes. She was wearing purple leggings underneath them. Her legs were crossed, a ballet flat bouncing off her ankle as she read. She had an old book on her knee, turning the pages with one hand. The other hand was clasped within Weasley’s, their fingers entwined.
Of course, they were dating. The rags and gossipmongers had Harry Potter breaking them up every other week or so.
Surprisingly, Weasley was dressed mostly decent, in a pair of well-fitted jeans and a brown jumper that looked much softer and more comfortable than the chair they were sitting on. He’d cut his hair short sometime since Draco’s trial, the ends spiked up. Like that, his hair looked less bright orange and more dark red. Almost like a dying fire.
Potter, as always, was a slob, in clothes too big for him and trainers with the laces untied. His mop of hair was longer, brushing his chin. But even in a baggy T-shirt, he looked fit.
“Malfoy, you read Ancient Runes, correct?” Granger said suddenly.
He glanced at her in surprise and failed to stop his sneer. “Of course, Granger.”
She leaned over the space between them and plopped the book on Draco’s knees. It was very old, held together by a charm that tingled at his fingertips.
“I cannot make sense of this passage.” She pointed to a section near the top of a page. “It is either talking about how to delicately prune and harvest trimonian berries, or it’s cautioning about their thorns of glass? Even using key words around it, I just cannot figure it out.”
Draco glanced down at the book, slipping his mind into the ancient alphabet that his father had made him study when he was only twelve. He read the entire page and realized with a start that it was an ancient potions book.
“Where did you get this book?” Draco asked.
Granger smiled. “I dragged these two louts to the middle of a desert in Turkey.”
“Merlin, do not bring that up,” Harry mumbled. “I had sand in my pants for weeks.”
“It was a lead on the recluse Diamber Whetle.”
Draco’s eyes went wide. “And you found?”
“A bit of a cave. She had obviously lived there. Only a few scrolls had been preserved. I found them in an alcove hidden by very strong magic. The scrolls were brittle and I had to be careful, so I turned them into this small book.”
“By the Gods, Granger. That witch is a legend. People have been searching for her papers for centuries.”
Granger smiled. “I will take that as a compliment. I’ve read it through this few times. You may read it now if you’d like. But can you tell me about that passage?”
Draco stared at her for a bit longer, and then cleared his throat and said, “There are symbols here I do not recognize, but I think your first assumption is correct. I do not think trimonian bushes have thorns, definitely not ones made of glass.”
“I never was good at herbology. I wonder if Neville will be at Hogwarts.”
“He said he might come later,” Potter said. “His grandmother is sick.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“Last week, I think.”
“You could have said.”
“I just did say.”
Hermione huffed.
Draco looked back down at the improvised book. He found himself reading it without meaning to. He started in surprised when Potter made a noise and huffed in his sleep. He glanced up, noting that more time had passed than he thought. Weasley was resting his head on the chair also, his long legs twisted around Potter’s in the space between them. Granger had pulled out a notebook, writing without glancing up.
It was ... normal. Which made Draco wary.
“So what gives?” Draco demanded, quietly to not wake up Potter or Weasley, though he should not have cared.
Granger glanced up at him with an eyebrow quirked. “What?”
Draco waved his hand around the compartment. “This ... why ... What the bloody fuck is this?”
Granger smiled. “Like Harry said, we won’t be disturbed here. Your wards on the door are really strong.”
“But you felt it.”
“Only Harry did. He’s connected to your magic a bit, from using your wand before. We weren’t sure if you were coming back to Hogwarts or not. I think you’re the only eighth-year Slytherin.”
Draco looked out the window again. “I am. But ... this ... just. I broke Potter’s nose the last time we were in the same train compartment.”
Granger’s smile widened. “True, but that was ... well maybe just a couple years ago, but it feels like a lifetime ago. If you’d like us to hex you and trade insults, we could do that too, and we will leave if you want us to, but it’s been a long time since we’ve been able to just relax.”
She went back to her notes.
Draco stared at her a little longer and looked back down at the book. Confused. But not about everything. Before leaving home, he had vowed to make a truce with the Golden Trio.
“You don’t have to leave,” Draco said, glaring at the window.
“Thank you.”
Time passed with the trees flowing beyond the window.
“If you want the snack cart to stop here, you better let down your wards for a moment,” Granger said. “Unless you want those hexes. Harry will be upset if he doesn’t get any chocolate.”
Draco fought a smile, but did as she suggested and let down his wards. A few minutes later, Potter and Weasley woke up as the cart rumbled by. The quiet destroyed, Draco turned his head to the window and listened to the pair bicker about the best kind of chocolate.
Someone nudged him.
He kept the glare off his face, though barely.
“You want one?” Potter asked, his own lips polkadotted with chocolate. He smiled and held out a chocolate bar.
He thought of refusing, met Granger’s eyes, and knew that he could not. A chocolate bar of peace? It was better than nothing.
“Maybe a bit,” Draco said.
Potter snorted. “A bit? We’re still teenagers and allowed to be immature and love chocolate. Here, have half.” And Potter ripped open the bar, broke it in half, and gave Draco the part still in the wrapper. The other half disappeared into his mouth.
Draco muttered a thank you and broke off a square. It was not Belgian chocolate or fancy French decadence, but the sweet bite on his tongue tasted good.
The chattering of the other three quieted to a faint drone.
Draco immersed himself in the book, reading ancient ingredients and directions for making potions that were probably highly illegal. Like a skin-eating potion. The introduction mentioned something along the lines of using it to cure some disease from long ago, but into today’s modern society ... a potion like that was enough to have his skin crawling.
In the wrong hands ...
“Thank the Gods,” Draco muttered.
“What?” Potter asked from next to him.
Startled, Draco glanced at the three of them. They had not moved, but looked ... more comfortable. Weasley’s jumper was gone, thrown over Granger’s legs. His white T-shirt was form fitting and that was so not on. How did the Weasel get to be so strong? Granger was leaning against him, his arm thrown around her shoulders. He glanced down, at the way Potter and Weasley’s socked feet were tangled around each other, Weasley’s foot almost shoved up one of Potter’s pantlegs.
“Nothing just ...” Draco swallowed and looked back at the book.
“The skin-eating one?” Granger asked.
Draco nodded. “It’s ...”
“Disturbing,” she finished. “Indeed.”
“Can we skip dinner?” Weasley asked suddenly.
Both Granger and Potter looked at him like he had lost a few Knuts.
Weasley smiled and shoved at Potter’s leg with his foot. “Seriously. You want to walk into the Great Hall like everything is normal?”
Potter made a face and then nodded. “No, but I have to.”
“If there’s a line for your autograph, do not expect me to stay,” Draco said. Almost dralwed. Perfect. Yes. Normal. Like everything was normal.
Except Weasley laughed. At Draco’s joke. That was not normal.
And Potter shoved him with his shoulder and called him a git under his breath, but there was absolutely nothing but humor in his voice.
“You know we have to, guys,” Granger said. “Headmistress McGonagall asked us to be there.”
Potter sighed and leaned back again with his eyes shut. “Fucking bloody wanker of a Savior of the wizarding world.”
Draco laughed, cutting it off when Potter smiled. He opened one eye and said, “You and I both agree on one thing, Malfoy. I fucking hate the Boy Who Lived.”
Draco swallowed. Granger pursed her lips, but she stayed silent, which meant this was not the first time Potter had said something like that.
“I wouldn’t say hate,” Draco said carefully. “Despise, maybe. Abhor, even. But not hate.”
Potter laughed. “Abhor. I like that word. I abhor you, Malfoy.”
“Likewise, Potter.”
“Harry,” Granger said.
“Don’t worry, ‘Mione. I abhor you too.”
Weasley laughed. “You love me.”
Potter’s face softened in the strangest way. His mouth curling in a small smile. His eyes stayed shut, but the tightness around the corners melted away. There was a sound of cloth moving again, and this time it was Potter, running a socked foot up Weasley’s leg. Weasley gripped his ankle and pulled his foot into his lap. Potter sighed and lifted both feet into his lap, twisted a bit uncomfortably in his seat, but he didn’t move, smiling with his eyes shut as Weasley rubbed his feet.
Draco swallowed. In the silence, he said, voice almost a whisper. “I don’t hate you, Potter.”
“I know that.”
“I ... Thank you.” Draco squeezed his eyes shut, hands in fists on his knees again. “Thank you. For ... the Room of Requirement. For ... my trial. My mother. I ... just thank you.”
His shoulder was bumped again. “Anytime,” Potter said. “Apparently I have a hero complex.”
Draco smiled tightly and turned his face away, watching the trees flash by. The tightness in his throat only went away when the other three said nothing else to him. He managed to concentrate on the book again. Silence settled between them. Both Potter and Weasley went back to sleep until Granger reminded them that they needed to put on their robes.
Potter took something from his pocket, dropped it on the ground, waved a hand at it with a small word, and a moment later, there was a trunk between them, pushing up against Draco’s knees.
“Shite, Potter.” Draco hated himself for the wide look on his face. Potter hadn’t used a wand.
Potter smiled over at him. “Oh, sorry. Watch your feet.”
“Thanks for this,” Weasley said and flung his legs over the top of it, settling back into the chair. “Way more comfortable.”
“Ronald Weasley,” Hermione said.
Weasley grinned. “Hermione Granger-Weasley.”
“I’m not married to you yet, you big oaf. Get your robes on.”
Potter pulled the top of the trunk open, moving Weasley’s feet. “Shite, nothing stayed where it was supposed to,” Potter said.
“You forgot the sticking charm again,” Granger almost sang, looking back down at her notebook.
“Ugh, why didn’t you remind me?”
“Now, maybe you’ll learn because you have such a mess to clean up.”
Curious, Draco peeked over. It was full of things that were just as miniaturized as the trunk had been. A shrinking spell inside a shrinking spell? That was ... almost impossible. At least, in theory. The inner shrinking spell was said to wear off sooner, breaking apart the outer shrinking spell.
Potter sighed and held his hand over the mess. “Accio Ron’s school robe.”
A tiny black thing flapped into the air. Potter caught it, no bigger than the palm of his hand. He flung it at Weasley, waved his hand at it, and a full-sized robe ended up covering Weasley’s head, who made a shout of protest.
Potter chuckled and said, “Accio my school robe.”
On its way out of the trunk, Potter flicked his fingers, and it expanded before Draco’s eyes.
“Circe’s tits,” Draco muttered.
“Malfoy,” Hermione said, in that same tone used to reprimand Weasley.
“Sod off, that is ... how ... why are you even coming back to school?”
Potter re-shrunk the trunk and returned it to his pocket. He stood up to slide on his robe. Smiling, he plopped back next to Draco. “Charms are pretty easy for me. But Potions?” He snorted. “Apparently, I also need to study Ancient Runes if I want to be a Cursebreaker, and Madam Hooch asked me to be an assistant Quidditch teacher.”
“You are awfully terrible at Potions,” Draco said.
“Aw, now you’re just being nice to me.”
“What about you two?” Draco said, trying not to smile.
“I can always use help with Potions,” Granger said, and Weasley nodded.
“I’m horrible at Transfiguration,” Weasley added.
“We’re just like you,” Potter said and actually patted Draco’s knee. “I doubt you need any help with Potions, but your Herbology ...”
Draco snorted. “Why study that when I have gardeners at the Manor?”
“My point exactly, you git,” Potter said with a smile and another shoulder bump.
The trained started to slow.
Draco closed the old book and held it out for Granger.
“Keep it,” she said. “I know you want to finish it. The eighth years are all sharing a tower, so you’ll be able to return it easily.”
Draco swallowed and nodded his thanks. He carefully slipped the book into the small bag of necessities he carried. His trunk was at the back of the train with the others. Draco waited for the other three to stand, before doing so himself. He picked the moment right as the train stopped and he almost fell into Granger.
She laughed and kept him steady, a firm hand on his stomach. Her fingers squeezed before releasing him.
He flushed, but did not curse her like he would have ... only a year ago. A year ago, this entire train ride never would have happened.
“Fuck, Malfoy, how tall are you?” Potter suddenly asked.
Draco glanced at him. Down at him. He cleared his throat, noting that the top of Potter’s head was just about even with his nose. He actually looked Weasley in the eye now.
“Um, almost one eighty.”
“Ha. I still got a few centimeters on you,” Weasley said.
“Fuck, ‘Mione.”
Granger frowned, and in a heartbeat, had Potter wrapped up in a hug. There was a brush of wind that felt like ... no smelled like ... nothing, but it was something that reminded Draco of being refreshed. Clean. And then Potter was breathing heavily against her neck.
Draco glanced at Weasley, eyebrows raised in question.
“Don’t worry about it,” Weasley said and clapped him on the shoulder.
Granger led Potter out of the compartment and into the rush of students. Weasley followed, but stopped at the door. He looked back over at Draco.
“You coming, Ferret?” he asked, smiling. Actually smiling. At him. At Draco Malfoy.
Draco shook his head. “Wait ... I was going to wait ... until the train was empty.”
Weasley rolled his eyes, reached over to him and hauled him out into the hallway. “Bugger that.”
“Ronald, watch your language,” Granger said from somewhere in front of them. “Children.”
And yes, there were children. Lots of children that stared up at Potter and at Weasley. And at him.
Draco found himself in front of Weasley, between him and Granger, who had her hands on Potter’s shoulders, keeping him moving.
As more students caught sight of them, silence rippled all the way to the front of the train. Draco had wanted nothing more than to just slide through the train, be silent, get the last carriage, not draw attention to himself, and here he was, between the Golden Trio. Subjected to stares, wonderment, venom, and a hex that flew dark purple at his face but was blocked by a shield of blue from Granger’s hand. The hex did not rebound, but was sucked into the shield with a small pop.
“That is enough of that,” Granger said, her voice loud in the silence. “No Hogwarts student deserves a slashing hex. Ever. The Headmistress will hear about this and the magical signature will be traced back to whoever threw it. You may save yourself the time and confess to Professor Flitwick as soon as we get off the train and perhaps you won’t be immediately expelled. Now move.”
And the students moved, Draco pushed along the wave, with Weasley’s strong presence behind him. He kept his head down, eyes on the bushy curls that were only kept in place in a tight band at Granger’s neck.
Outside the train, the long line of thestral-drawn carriages awaited them. Draco felt herded, between Granger and Weasley with Potter leading the way. And he also felt thankful. Again.
The inside of the carriage was quiet, blocking out the noise of the students still mulling about outside.
Potter sat across from him, pulling up his legs, resting his face at his knees, arms around his shins. His eyes shut. Breath a bit short. Draco narrowed his eyes and reached to touch his knee. Weasley stopped his hand just short of brushing over the exposed jeans.
“Don’t touch him right now,” Weasley whispered. “He’s okay.”
Draco snorted, but took his hand back. It felt very strange to be concerned about Potter.
“He will be okay,” Granger said. She slammed the door of the carriage with a finality that had Draco jumping in surprise.
“That was a nasty hex,” Weasley said.
“Thank you for stopping it,” Draco said to Granger.
“Anytime, Malfoy. House animosity and squabbles seem perfectly ridiculous when we are all on the same side. We are all here to get an education, and I will stop anyone that tries to keep me from that.”
Weasley leaned close and mock-whispered, “She only stops studying to fuck.”
Draco snorted out an incredulous laugh, unable to keep the smile off his face.
“Fuck you, Ron.”
“Okay. I told you before I wanted to skip dinner.” Once again, he stretched out as he could, hands laced behind his head, and he smiled.
Draco noted the bulk on Weasley’s forearms shown as his robes slipped up. He remembered the breadth of his shoulders in his T-shirt and the way the jeans had fit him so well.
He cleared his throat. “So um ... besides Turkey, what have you three been doing since ... I last ...”
“Since your trial?” Hermione said and shrugged. “Turkey was the extent of the experience. We helped rebuild parts of Hogwarts. Mostly laid low. It’s been ... well, I don’t need to tell you that it’s been rough with the trials and funerals and all the attention Harry has been getting.”
Draco cleared his throat and nodded. He’d been so starved for information on the Boy Who Saved His Life, that he ended up scouring the Prophet every day for a mention of him. There was always at least one picture of Potter at funerals or coming in and out of the Ministry.
“What about you?” Weasley asked. “No more grand parties?”
“Ronald, be nice.”
“Hey, that was nice. I didn’t ask him if he’s been torturing children.”
Draco flushed and looked away.
“Ron,” Potter whispered. “Come on.”
Weasley dropped his arms and put his own elbows on his knees, hands flexing where they hung in the air. He took a few deep breaths. “I am not going to apologize, Malfoy, but I’m ... I’m willing to push away old grudges. I am. It’s just ... Fred ...”
“Your brother,” Draco said, remembering that one of them had died. “I know. I ... I don’t know what to say. Sorry.”
“Don’t say anything,” Weasley said. “You didn’t kill him, and I’m only angry at the things that the Death Eaters stood for. Or some sort of shite like that. Right, ‘Mione?”
“Yes, some sort of shite like that.”
“Most of what you did was because you didn’t know any better or to protect your family,” Weasley continued. “Or so Harry says. I promised him and I promised ‘Mione that as long as you were civil and friendly, then I would be civil and friendly. Unless you try to kill me again.”
Draco swallowed. “I’m ... I ...”
“We know,” Granger said patiently and actually reached over to pat his knee. “You don’t need to apologize again. You have already today and you did after your trial.”
"I have no desire to fight anymore.”
“I doubt that,” Potter said. “Shown a need, you’ll draw your wand.”
“As will the three of you.”
“Damn straight,” Weasley said and then held out his hand sideways for Draco. “Truce?”
Draco nodded and did not hesitate in taking it.
The scrutiny increased as they climbed from the carriages and headed up and into the castle. It was the quietest Draco had ever remembered the first night of school being. The younger students whispered in groups. Some of the older students glared, some just pondered. A few said hello to the Golden Trio, those from their House.
The Great Hall looked as it always did on the first day of classes, bright from the floating candles. Tables stretched in four rows up to the front where the professors sat, Headmistress McGonagall in the middle.
“Over there,” Granger said and pointed.
There were two tables near the ends of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. A placard rested between the two tables that said, “EIGHTH YEARS.”
“Our own table?” Draco questioned.
Granger shrugged and plopped herself right in the middle of it. Draco sat across from her. Weasley sat next to Granger, and Potter looked conflicted for a moment before sitting next to Draco.
“The Headmistress wanted to make sure that all the students knew who we were,” Granger said. “Apparently we’re the first step to House Unity and respect.”
“Gods among men,” Draco said sagely.
Weasley laughed. At Draco’s joke. Again. It was all so surreal.
Students filed in around them and chatter rose as friends reconnected from the previous years. There were only seventeen eighth years. Draco was the only Slytherin, as he expected. Most were Gryffindors, including Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. He recognized Hufflepuffs Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley; and Ravenclaws Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot. The Patil Twins joined their table with another girl wearing Gryffindor robes.
If they all had to share a tower, he was going to have to learn the rest of their names eventually.
Glances and glares came their way more than once.
“All right, Malfoy?” Goldstein asked, sitting in the spot next to him on his other side.
Draco would have sneered. Before. But the truce he made with Weasley extended to them all. He understood that.
“Just fine, Goldstein. You?”
Goldstein did not miss a beat. “It’s been a rough break, but I suppose that’s true for all of us. I’m actually looking forward to blowing up a potion even if it means blisters all over my hands, just for the normalcy of classes, you know?”
Draco nodded. “I do not know what it feels like to blow up a potion,”-- He heard snickers around the table, but it was true. --“but yes. The normalcy of classes will be ... well, more normal than sharing a meal with you lot.”
A few backs stiffened, but Weasley leaned forward and said, “Don’t worry too much, Malfoy. Most of us do know how to use a fork.” He winked.
“Thank Merlin.”
Weasley laughed and the students were called to order. Draco glanced up at the head table. There was a bundle of nervous looking first years pressed together. McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on its stool. A moment later, it started singing:
It’s all a rather daunting thing,
Making up the songs I sing
But on this day of firsts for some
Remember where we all came from.
Remember on your first day here
Quaking in your robes in fear
Praying for your favorite House
Placed in the best, not the worst.
We have learned in a year
There is no best
There is no worst.
We have learned in a year.
Pain for some.
Love for all.
Remember tripping on the stairs
Learning which ones disappeared.
Remember rushing to classes late
And off to Hogsmeade for a break.
Remember reading books and work.
Stretching out the last few words
To make your essay long enough
Remember what once was tough.
Our famous founders were friends
Godric and Rowena
Helga and Salazar
They built this home and made me pure
To separate you into groups
Groups to work together
Groups to learn together.
Groups to remember.
Two years ago, Draco would have rolled his eyes at the song.
But he remembered. And by the looks on the faces of those that shared his eighth-year table, so did they. For most, that is why they came back.
McGonagall read off the name of the first boy.
“Adam Adams!”
“Blimey,” Weasley muttered. “His parents must have hated him.”
“Shut up, Ronald Bilius,” Granger whispered back, pulling snickers from the others around them.
Bilius, Draco mouthed at Potter.
Potter smiled widely, the haunted look from before draining from his face.
The Hufflepuffs cheered for Adam Adams, even those at the eighth-year table.
“We cheer for them all,” Granger suddenly said, leaning forward to address everyone at their table. “All of them.”
A few grumbled, but when the next girl became a Slytherin, the eighth-year table cheered the loudest, actually startling the other Slytherins silent for a moment, and then they cheered louder.
After that, every student was cheered by the eighth years, though the Gryffindors did cheer louder for when the student was actually put in Gryffindor and only politely applauded for the Slytherin students.
Draco caught the Headmistress smiling.
As soon as the last student was sorted into Slytherin, McGonagall stood up and used magic to amplify her voice.
“This year will be difficult for many of us. Standing as your Headmistress is an honor for me, and I wish for you to turn the pride shown toward your Houses to pride shown toward Hogwarts. This year, more than any year before, demands a strong sense of unity. We will help one another. We will support one another. This means that if you have grievances, you talk about them. This means that there will be no bullying. This means that you will help someone from a rival House just as quickly as you would help your housemate. I am aware of the incident on the train, where one student attempted to hex another with a strong slashing curse. This is unacceptable. Such antics will result in immediate expulsion for the student. Fighting between us only makes everyone’s lives miserable. We are all here for the same thing: to learn, to grow, to rebuild.
“If you have any issues with the things I have said, you may come and talk to me about them so we can work them out. We have a Mind Healer from St. Mungo's available for anyone that wishes to talk to him about whatever they wish.
“That said, the Houses will still earn and lose points. We will still have Quidditch--” Cheers erupted from this, and McGonagall smiled. “--and we will still have a House winner at the end of the year. The last thing I will discuss is our returning eighth-year students. They were unable to attend classes last year for obvious reasons and they have chosen to return to finish their work. They will be studying hard for their N.E.W.T. exams. I expect the rest of you to respect that. Do not expect them to help you break the rules.” --
Most heads turned toward Potter and Weasley, and Weasley chuckled.
-- “Do not pester them with questions about their part in the war. Do not pester them with hero-worship and other such nonsense. They are students, the same as you, and all will be held to the same expectations. Now, let’s eat.”
Draco kept his head down during dinner, only replying to direct questions, though those were few and far between. He listened to the others talk about being home during the war, not here at Hogwarts, not in the midst of it all. Granger mentioned their trip to Turkey even if she did not discuss finding Diamber Whetle.
Draco was very thankful when dinner was done and they were allowed up to their dorms. McGonagall may have said no one was allowed to hex him, but he certainly felt their glares.
The eighth-year dorms were about halfway up the Astronomy Tower. Not Draco’s favorite place, considering the failure of his past.
New beginnings, he reminded himself.
Their portrait hole was guarded by the painting of a Centaur.
“Did anyone get a password?” Macmillan asked.
Most of them chuckled.
“I’ll go back and get it from McGonagall,” Granger said.
“No need, my magical friend,” the Centaur said. “I have a riddle for you all, if you guess, you will pass. If you fail, well, you will need to retrieve the password.”
Potter grumbled next to Draco. “I hate stupid magical creature’s confusing riddles.”
“What is the riddle?” Granger asked.
“While not the brightest, its point still shines, to guide you through the southern seas, and if explorations aren’t your thing, perhaps you’d like a cup of tea?”
“Sagittarius,” Draco almost drawled. “The constellation.”
The centaur looked insulted, but the portrait swung open and let them all inside. Draco received a few, “Good one, Malfoy”s and “Well done”s.
Potter said, “Wow. Even before Hermione.”
“Centaurs love a good star riddle,” Draco said. “It was obvious.”
They all stopped in the middle of a very interesting common room. It was a circular room with a four-sided fireplace right through the middle of it, straight up a few stories to the roof. Giant banners from every House hung from the ceiling and the furniture looked like it was borrowed from all four houses too. There were multiple tables for studying and a few shelves along the walls.
Two spiral staircases arched and branched through the room, leading to doorways above them.
As they stared, names appeared above each door.
“Room assignments?” one of the girls asked.
“Must be,” Hermione said. “Hannah, looks like I’m with you.”
Others glanced around, looking for their partners.
Draco saw his name glow silver, right next to Harry Potter glowing an interesting shade of bright green.
Weasley frowned at Potter. “My name is with Neville’s. I guess that means he is coming. But he isn’t here yet. Do you want to room with me until then or will you be okay with the snake?”
Once again, at the insult, the others stiffened, expecting a curse. But Draco knew it wasn’t really an insult. Maybe it was one, but within their new truce, it was one that he could get away with. Draco didn’t care. He happened to like snakes.
But Potter only smiled and said, “You know I’m good with snakes.” He winked at Weasley, who laughed, and so did a few others that picked up on the sexual joke. “It’s fine, Ron. I’m probably the only one here who isn’t going to kill him just on principle.”
“Comforting,” Draco said, glancing around at the others.
“He’s mostly right,” Dean Thomas said. “I don’t want to be expelled. Oi! Justin! Our room’s up at the top. Let’s go.”
Draco followed Potter up the left staircase to the third door. It opened to a spacious room with two large beds on either side and a pair of wardrobes on the walls. A single window separated the two beds with a single desk underneath it. Another door led to a small bathroom, complete with their own shower and toilet.
“Not bad,” Draco said. “Which bed do you want?”
“The one that you’ll be sleeping in,” Potter said and smiled at him. He laughed at the astonished look on Draco’s face. “It doesn’t matter. Just pick one.”
Draco took the bed on the left, Harry the one on the right.
Draco’s sheets were silver, the bedspread and hangings blue. Potter’s bed had pale cream sheets and a darker blue, almost black, bedspread and hangings. Draco dragged his trunk over to the foot of the bed.
“Blimey I’m tired,” Potter said and pulled off his school robe. The baggy T-shirt rode up with it, showing pale scars crisscrossing darker skin.
Draco swallowed and glanced away. “You slept most of the way on the train. How can you be tired?”
Potter removed his shrunken trunk from his pocket and tossed it at the end of the bed. It grew to normal size before hitting the floor. Things clattered inside of it. “Long day yesterday is all. I didn’t sleep much at all last night. Shite, I had no idea we were going to be in separate rooms. I have most of Ron’s stuff in there. I better get it organized before I sleep because I am not going to want to do it tomorrow and have to wake up earlier than necessary.”
Draco unpacked as well, standing up his trunk and opening it next to the wardrobe. He transferred what clothes he needed into the wardrobe.
“Blimey, are those jeans?” Potter asked. “You own a pair of jeans?”
Draco rolled his eyes and held out a stack. “Four pair. If it makes you feel less surprised, they were handmade by our family tailor just for me.”
“Man, even name-brand isn’t good enough for you.”
“Right in one.” Draco stacked his school books on his mattress for a moment. He unpacked all the other necessary things and then closed his trunk, put it back at the foot of the bed and stacked his school books atop it.
“All kidding aside, Malfoy. I’m glad you’re back. I’m glad ... I’m glad. Just ... never mind. I will stop talking before I say something stupid.”
Draco cleared his throat. “I’m glad I’m back too. I’m ... yeah.” He sat on his bed and tried not to listen to Potter rummage around in his trunk.
“I am going to give Ron some of his stuff, at the least the stuff I managed to find. You want to come down and hang out?”
Draco swallowed and shook his head. “Not tonight.”
“Okay. I won’t push. But don’t be a recluse. You have no reason to hide up here. You are not an enemy. Not to me. Not to Ron. Not to Hermione. The others will come around.”
Draco nodded. “Maybe.”
With a soft sigh, Potter left the room. With a heavier sigh, Draco fell back onto his bed.
---
Draco was still awake when Potter stumbled into the bedroom past midnight. He said nothing, smiling in the dark when Potter ran into the trunk first and then the bed post. His curses echoed through the room. A faint green glow illuminated the room.
Draco turned his head.
Floating among the hangings of Potter’s bed was a ball of green light. It was the same green color as when Potter’s name appeared above the door.
“Shite, did I wake you?” Potter asked quietly. “Sorry.”
“I was not asleep.”
The green light flared a little brighter.
“Are you pissed?”
Potter chuckled. “No. Just ... tired. Really.” He pulled off his T-shirt. The green glow on his skin looked sickly. Bruises smattering over his neck and shoulders and down his chest glowed almost black in the light.
“Are those love bites, Potter? Already?”
Potter cleared his throat. He was probably blushing. “Long night last night, remember?”
Draco thought about that. Potter had arrived at the train with Granger and Weasley. He had most of Weasley’s stuff in his trunk. On the train, his and Weasley’s legs had been wrapped together.
Were they together? Potter and Weasley?
But Granger had been holding Weasley’s hand.
“Should I ask?” Draco finally said in the silence.
“Ask what?”
“If it was the Weasel biting you?”
Potter stilled in the light for a moment and then shucked off his jeans, leaving him in pants and socks. The socks came off. Potter was fit. Short, but fit. Strong shoulders, strong arms. A trim waist. Not nearly the slip of a boy he had been before the war.
The green light disappeared.
Draco figured that Potter was not going to answer his question. He understood. It had been incredibly personal. One day of not fighting nor arguing did not mean they were going to reveal all their secrets to each other. He lay back, arms behind his head and tried to relax. It was so hard to relax in a place that was not the safety of his own home. Or that of the dungeons. He was used to the cooler air and the pure darkness. His silk pajamas felt too stifling all of a sudden. He glanced over at Potter’s bed. Well, he was sleeping in just his pants.
Draco unbuttoned the pajama top. He tightened his stomach enough to sit up and slip it off his shoulders and onto the floor. He kept the bottoms on.
“Would it bother you if I said yes?” Potter asked in the silence.
Draco took a moment to remember the question he had asked before. Bother him? Definitely not. Wizards were not really supposed to be gay, but there were a few of them out there. Draco had no problems at all appreciating a male body and had spent more nights in his Slytherin dorm appreciating his housemates’ cocks than he really cared to admit. At least to anyone else.
“No, it wouldn’t bother me,” he whispered. “Does it bother Granger?”
Potter huffed. “Only when she isn’t around to join.”
“So the Golden Trio is really a trio? In everything?”
“Things were ... rough. On our own. In the woods while we were chasing Voldemort. We sought solace with one another and found it.”
Draco hummed. “Lucky, I guess, to find one person you connect with so well. And you have two. Are you sure you don’t want to room with Weasley for a while? I won’t be insulted.”
Potter actually laughed. “I need to sleep. I know what happens when I’m in a room alone with Ron and it isn’t sleep.”
Draco let himself picture that. Let himself picture the two of them together, Weasley’s long, tall, strong body splayed out for Potter, straddling him, fucking himself on Weasley’s prick. Maybe it was the other way around, though Weasley seemed way more of a top than a bottom.
A few years ago, it would not have been sexy, but Weasley had grown into himself, gotten height and muscle and a swagger that screamed satisfaction. Did those freckles cover everything? Draco wondered.
And Potter. Well, Potter had always been attractive in that sloppy sort of way.
“What about you, Malfoy?”
“What about me?”
“Anyone warming your bed sheets?”
Draco snorted. “Not since fifth year. Sixth year was a mess, and then ... well, after that, it was more of a chore staying away from Death Eaters that thought I was fair game.”
Potter hummed. A noise that was half understanding and half horror.
“I was not ever raped. I learned to stay out of their way. Self-preservation and all that.”
“Self-preservation and yet, you decided to come back to school?” The incredulousness in his voice made Draco smile.
“Point, but I need an O on my Potions N.E.W.T. in order to even think of becoming a Potion Master. Without that, I cannot get the proper paperwork from the Ministry to open my own shop.”
Potter yawned.
“Sleep, Potter. We have class way too early in the morning.”
.