Chapter Text
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – July 1995
Draco stared up at his emerald canopy, dazed.
“Draco?” came Greg’s voice tentatively. “We're going up for breakfast now… Are you going to get up today?”
Draco closed his eyes. His eyelids felt very heavy, but he could not sleep.
“You should eat something, Draco,” Vince added, concerned.
“Leave him be, if he says he's not well, then he's not well,” Blaise tutted. “Sorry about them, old chap, you rest up.”
Draco just sighed at the sound of their dormitory door swinging shut, rolling over and tucking his face into his pillow.
It had been exactly two weeks since the night of the third task.
Draco hadn't left his dormitory once. What did it matter? Classes were finished for the year, and within the next few days he would be getting on board the Hogwarts Express to go back to Mother, Andromeda, Ted, and Dora.
Pansy had burst in the morning after the third task, rambling on about Crouch Jr being found during the night.
Apparently Dumbledore had been quick to escort the Death Eater to his office. He'd reportedly been shouting about ‘backstabbing blood traitors,’ but he was so out of sorts, he'd sounded completely off his rocker. The ramblings of a madman.
Where Pansy got her information, Draco would never know.
Pansy…
Draco clutched lightly at his throat. He'd nearly died again. Again. If Pansy hadn't saved him… Well, he would be buried somewhere deep in the Forbidden Forest most likely, his ghost roaming the halls of the castle…
He was starting to lose track of the number of near-death experiences he'd had. He was almost as bad as Harry!
Harry.
He couldn’t get the look he'd given him out of his mind. It burned him up with anger and sadness.
It just wasn't fair.
And Riddle.
Riddle was back. Draco had failed. The war was coming, and it was all his fault. He should have tried harder, he should've told someone. He knew he should've gone to Dumbledore, but he would've sounded mad.
How could he have possibly explained it?
How could he have told even his Lions without sounding like a liar and a loon?
Harry's face came back to haunt him again: the fury, the betrayal. Telling Harry the whole truth now would surely make it all worse…
The minutes dwindled by, the only sound in the otherwise silent dormitory the distinct bubbling of the lake outside the windows; the muffled waves crashing and lapping on the surface.
Eventually Draco succumbed to the need to freshen up, glaring at what he found in the bathroom mirror as he washed his hands.
There were attributes from his mother, certainly. He had her curved, pointed nose, and his hair was almost curly like hers, but Draco really did look so much like his father. He had his cold, grey eyes, his sharp chin, his white-blond hair.
His hair…
It was too long. It was like his hair.
Breathing shallowly, Draco grabbed his wand, raised it to his head, and, before he could change his mind, promptly severed his silky tresses, watching as the silvery white-blond locks of hair fell to the cool bathroom tiles.
His vision blurred as the final strands fell, his tears falling with them. Sucking in a breath, he looked back to the mirror.
His hair was a mess. It stuck out at all angles as though someone had taken a knife to it and hacked away.
He fell to his knees, hands trembling as sobs wracked his body.
He couldn't believe what his father had done .
He couldn’t believe his own father had chosen that horrible, manipulative, evil wizard over him! Blindly following the madman who had nearly killed his own son.
He couldn’t understand it. It wasn't fair!
There was a gasp.
He looked to the doorway, where Pansy stood with a tray of toast and tea. “Draco, what did you do?!”
Draco merely shrugged his shoulders, hanging his head again. He heard Pansy tut, the tray clinking as she placed it down before she approached him and helped him to his feet.
“Come on, pet,” she said, rubbing his arms. “Let's clean you up…”
Ten minutes later Draco had a cup of tea in his hand, soothing his nerves as the gentle snipping of Pansy’s hair scissors filled the silence.
“Potter was asking after you again today, asking for the password to our house,” she said after a while. “I told him to bugger right off.”
Draco looked at her out of the corner of his eye, his chest heavy. “You didn't!”
“Actually there might’ve been a bit more swearing involved, but yes, I did,” Pansy said with a haughty sniff.
“Pans,” Draco sighed, placing his tea on his bedside table.
“Drakey-poo, he hit you where it hurt, and I can't abide by that,” she said. “He cut you open emotionally,” she added, snapping her scissors for emphasis.
“Pansy, please,” Draco groaned, wincing as he wrapped his arms around himself.
“Erik sent you that, by the way,” she said, pointing to the ‘Get well soon!’ card on his tray. “Everyone just thinks you're poorly… Well, apart from Vince, Greg, and the three Gryffinfucks.”
Draco almost laughed at the nickname.
Almost.
“Speaking of, Granger’s fuming at Potter, too,” Pansy said, carding her fingers through his hair. “Finally something we agree on… There, what do you think?”
Draco looked up as Pansy held a hand mirror in front of his face. She had trimmed his hair short at the sides, framing an elegant cascade of wavy fringe dangling over his face in a way his father would've despised.
‘Tidy up that birds-nest!’ he would say, ‘Malfoys never have a hair out of place!’
Draco gently tousled the white-blond locks, curly like his mother's. He would not be slicking it back with half a bottle of Sleakeazy’s. Not this time.
“You know,” Pansy said, admiring her handiwork, “they do say cutting your hair is symbolic of new beginnings…”
***
Draco was sitting in the bay window in his dormitory, gazing out at the streaks of sunlight pouring into the depths of the Black Lake, when he heard the door creaking open again, followed by a call of his name.
“Draco?”
He'd expected it to be Pansy, coming to check in on him. Or Greg or Vince, coming to bring him something from the kitchens and ensure he ate. Maybe even Blaise or Theo, coming to collect something from their drawers.
He did not, however, expect to hear that voice call his name. He immediately stiffened at the timbre of it, his heart constricting painfully in his chest.
“How did you get in?” he managed to bite out, bunching his fists in the satin folds of his pyjamas.
“Greg told me the password…”
Draco dared to look over his shoulder.
Harry stood in the middle of the room, a dull, tired expression on his face. When Draco met his eye, he looked away.
Draco scoffed, turning back to the window again. “I could wear a paper bag over my head if you'd prefer,” he drawled bitterly.
“I know you’re not your father, Draco,” Harry said quietly. At his words, Draco squeezed his eyes shut tight.
What he would've given to be just like his father four years ago…
Harry’s footsteps padded nearer. Draco barely concealed his flinch as he sat down next to him in the window.
“That wasn't even the problem, it was just…” Harry took a deep breath. “It was a lot, landing alone in a graveyard, your father coming out of nowhere, Voldemort coming back…”
All of which Draco could've stopped if he'd just tried harder.
Not your fault, Pansy’s voice scolded him inside his mind.
No. It wasn't his fault. It was his father's fault. Everything would've been perfectly fine if his father had just left well enough alone!
Draco took a shaky breath, turning his attention back to Harry.
“What I gathered from that night, Potter , is that you don't trust that I am on your side,” he managed to say evenly. “After everything I've been through for the past three years.”
Harry at least looked sufficiently reprimanded, staring down at his lap.
“Sirius really talked some sense into me that night,” he said after a moment. “I was confused, and angry – ”
“Oh, well that's alright then,” Draco scoffed, scowling out at the murky water. “I'm beginning to see a pattern with you not trusting me, you know. Do you really find me that – ?”
“I'm sorry.”
Draco looked at Harry, then. Harry, who held his gaze this time. Harry, who had visible bags beneath his beautiful green eyes, his brow pinched with sincerity.
Harry, who had no doubt had his entire life thrown into disarray in the past fortnight and still found the decency to seek Draco out to apologise. Because he was just that good.
He was self-righteous at times, a hot-headed idiot and an utter prat. But he was always going to be insufferably good, wasn't he?
Feeling his anger crumble, Draco’s lip quivered, his vision blurring with unshed tears.
“Oh, please don’t cry, Draco,” Harry fumbled, holding his hands out like he was confronting a wild animal. “I don't like seeing you cry.”
Scoffing out a wet laugh, Draco turned and wrapped his arms around Harry without a second thought. He held him tight. His heart felt like it might burst out of his chest, but he didn’t care.
Eventually – tentatively – two awkward arms encompassed him.
“I do trust you, Draco…” Harry said after a moment. “You don't believe in blood purity, you take Muggle Studies, you apologised to Dobby, you started a whole newspaper to stop Skeeter, and you helped me get away from the Dursleys.”
Harry’s voice vibrated roughly against him as he grew more emboldened with each word.
Draco clutched Harry’s back, feeling his heart beat against him and relishing the rhythmic thumping.
Holding Harry close to him was comforting. It felt good. It felt safe.
It felt right.
Harry’s dark hair was soft against his cheek. He smelled woodsy and warm. He felt warm. It was just an incredibly, wonderfully warm feeling…
He suddenly didn't care that Harry didn't feel the same way anymore. He didn't care that Harry liked Chang. All he could care about was the sheer intensity of emotions he felt towards the idiot in his arms.
Draco didn't know what falling in love felt like, but if it felt like anything at all, he was quite certain this was it.
“How many times did Hermione give you that speech until you saw it her way?” he managed thickly.
“I mean it,” said Harry fiercely. “You're brilliant, Draco. You couldn't be anything less like your father.”
Draco reluctantly pulled away from Harry, then, meeting his fiery green gaze . “I'm sorry for everything he did,” he murmured, his eyes dipping down to the arm that had been bleeding.
The hint of a deep, red scar peeked out of the bandage wrapped around Harry’s wrist, and Draco felt the steadily flickering flame of hatred towards his father flare up.
“Wasn't that bad,” Harry said, grimacing. “I've survived worse… I saw Uncle Vernon in nothing but a towel once.”
Draco had only seen the beefy Muggle man once at Kings Cross, but once was enough to know that would not have been a pretty sight. His face must've done something very strange indeed, because Harry began to chuckle.
And, oh, how Draco loved the sound of it.
He couldn’t help but laugh too, smiling for the first time in over a week as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
Harry’s expression was caught somewhere between smiling and staring at Draco like he was some sort of fascinating creature he'd never seen before. Draco stared back, swallowing the view of the sunlight bleeding through the water dancing across his face.
“But Riddle’s back now…” Draco muttered, turning his attention back to the lake as his lip curled into a sneer. “All because of my father.”
“Why do you call him Riddle?” Harry asked. “I mean, I know the whole – er – possession thing, but –”
“As far as I'm concerned, he doesn't deserve to be called anything other than his true name,” Draco said shortly. “He is not the Dark Lord, and he is most certainly not Lord Voldemort. That's the name he chose for himself when he decided to become an evil occultist lord of darkness. To me, he’s a pathetic school-boy called Thomas Marvolo Riddle.”
Harry blinked rapidly. “That's – that's actually a sort of brilliant way of looking at it,” he said, smirking. “Strips him of his power, and he hated his father, so it’d probably annoy him to no end.”
“What did my father say?” Draco asked before he could stop himself. At Harry’s wince, he lightly shook his head. “Never mind, I just –”
“He didn't say much,” Harry blurted. “Vol – Riddle did most of the talking. But he did mention that I'd poisoned your brain. I wanted to laugh, but I was sort of – er – fighting for my life?”
Draco managed a weak snicker. “I rather think you gave my brain the antidote to his poison.”
Harry's lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “I like that.”
His face immediately fell, however, as he took a deep breath. “I'd also been –” he began, faltering. “My dreams – er – my visions. I saw your father in them, helping Voldemort. I thought they were just nightmares at first, but my scar would hurt when I woke up, and –”
“Most philosophers seem to scoff at the idea of astral projection,’” Draco said concisely. “But the substance text exists for a reason… It's rare but not unheard of, and knowing you, it’s probably a power you do indeed possess.”
Harry just snorted.
“I knew he had to be up to something,” Draco carried on, voice softer. “I only dared to hope that it wasn't what it seemed, and everything would still be fine…”
“I wish you'd told me you had suspicions,” Harry told Draco after a moment.
So did Draco. He wished he'd told him everything. But…
If he told him about the Journal now…
If he told him he'd known Riddle was rising, that he'd essentially lied to him by keeping the truth from him… Even if he told Harry he'd tried to prevent it, he just knew he would hate him.
“And I wish you'd told me about your visions,” Draco replied, resting his chin on his knees. “We could've done something.”
“What could we have done?” Harry asked.
“Told someone? Told Dumbledore?” Draco suggested. “I mean surely he had to realise there was something amiss with you being put into the tournament against your will, why didn't he do anything about it?”
Harry seemed to mull it over, a deep frown furrowing his brow. “He did just sort of let it happen, didn't he? Without looking into it much, I mean. I don't really know what he does in his office, but he...” Harry trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”
Draco shifted, turning to face him. “No, there’s something. What is it?”
Harry told him about what happened that day he'd had the vision in Divination. How he'd gone to Dumbledore's office and saw a Death Eater trial in the Pensieve, and how Dumbledore had told him he knew Riddle had indeed been getting stronger.
“It felt like he was just… letting it happen? Letting Voldemort rise again? He knew, but he didn’t do anything about it.”
Draco averted his eyes as the words hit him like a stinging jinx. He knew, but he didn't do anything about it…
No.
Because unlike Dumbledore, Draco had tried . He'd tried to disenchant the Triwizard Cup, tried to prevent it, tried to do what he could. And he'd saved a life. He and Pansy had saved a life, and apprehended a Death Eater together!
None of which Draco could tell Harry. At least not yet…
The silence dragged on for a while as they stared out at the lake.
Draco flinched as Harry reached up and gently pinched a lock of his silky hair between his fingers. “You cut it,” he observed, brow furrowed.
Heart in his throat, Draco looked away. “I – the resemblance was –”
“Look. I really don't see him when I look at you, you know,” Harry told him sharply. “I just see you.”
Draco scoffed, feeling warmth blossom on his face. “Eurgh. Don’t be cheesy.”
“No,” said Harry solemnly. “Will you stop sulking and come out of your house, now? Up to the Great Hall?”
“Sulking, Scarhead?” Draco scoffed with indignation.
“There it is,” Harry chuckled.
“There’s what?” Draco asked, scowling slightly.
“‘Scarhead,’’’ Harry drawled in a ridiculously posh accent, knocking his shoulder against Draco’s.
“I do not sound like that!” Draco squawked, pushing him away.
“Come on then, your highness,” Harry said, jumping up and grabbing Draco’s wrists, pulling him to his feet.
“Potter, I –” Draco began wincing.
“Please?” Harry blurted, looking at him imploringly. “No excuses. If we keep acting like he's won just by returning, we –”
“Scarhead –” Draco tried.
“It's just that Hagrid said something the other day that's really stuck with me, and I think we need to –”
“Harry!”
Harry blinked, stopping still and looking at Draco, his mouth hanging open slightly.
Draco pulled his hands back and gestured to himself. “I'm not going up to the Great Hall in my pyjamas.”
“Oh,” said Harry.
***
When Draco finally surfaced from the dungeons an hour later, everyone greeted him happily. All of the students he passed blissfully unaware that the darkest wizard of their time was back.
Though some did complain; asking when the next copy of The Golden Snidget would be out… He told them all there would be one for the very end of the year.
Hermione hugged him on-sight, trapping him in a bone-crushing vice.
“You're not your father, and we love you, Draco!” she’d snapped so ferociously it felt like she was scolding him.
The real Filch was wandering the halls again, Mrs Norris not leaving his side once as she happily wound around his legs. The squib looked worse for wear, however. His hair, which had already been receding, was so thin now that the man was almost entirely bald.
On the last Saturday before the end of term, The Golden Snidget staff (along with Harry and Ronald) headed to the Muggle Studies classroom.
Upon arriving, they found Professor Burbage sorting through rolls of parchment at her desk. There was an album already spinning on the record player, and Draco instantly recognised it as the Beatles.
“Last meeting of the year?” Burbage asked brightly when she saw them filtering in. “I'll get out of your hair, then. Speaking of; love the new ‘do, Draco!”
“Why, thank you, miss,” Draco said primly, waving to her as she bustled out.
“Merlin's tits, you're such a teachers’ pet,” Pansy snorted once she was gone. “No wonder you get so many O's.”
Draco harrumphed. “I get O's because I study. A concept you're probably not familiar with as you spend most of your time fussing over your nails.”
“I resent that accusation,” Pansy snarled, jabbing her nail-file at him.
“Alright,” Hermione spoke up, having just finished cleaning the blackboard. “Last edition of the year…”
Draco took the chalk from her. “Well, we can't not cover the third task, but do we lie?” He looked at Harry. “Do we just carry on as though it was what it seemed?”
“No,” said Harry at once. “I want to talk about it, and I want the Snidget to talk about it, too.”
“Harry!” Hermione gasped. “You can’t really mean – ?”
“We have to spread the word!” Harry insisted. “Fudge wouldn’t believe it, he thought it was a hoax. But I know what I saw, what I went through that night.”
“Our parents were there, weren't they?” Vince piped up suddenly, gesturing to himself and Greg. “When the Dark Lord came back.”
Draco had never seen the two look so fearful…
“‘fraid so,” said Harry, going tight-lipped. “And a few others, including Nott's dad.”
Draco nodded, turning back to the blackboard and writing ‘Tournament – a trick. A trap.’
“Makes sense,” said Greg gruffly. “They were all at the attack at the World Cup.”
“But they weren't –” Vince began. “But my father didn't help bring him back, did he?”
Draco stopped writing.
“No,” said Harry, sounding hesitant. “That was just – it was only –”
Draco dragged the chalk down the board so hard it squealed.
“No, Vincent, that was only my father,” he bit out. As soon as he said this, the record got stuck, the track jumping over the same lyric.
“I wanna hold your hand - hand - hand - hand - hand –”
Draco immediately stalked over and turned it off, leaving the room in silence.
“Sorry, Draco,” Vince said sheepishly. “I didn't even think –”
Draco cleared his throat. “No, no. It's perfectly fine,” he said, turning around and composing himself. “Anyway, I’m with Harry.”
Draco could practically hear Pansy roll her eyes. Everyone else looked surprised, aside from Luna, who was just smiling dazedly.
“We need to get the word out,” he carried on. “Plant a seed; a warning that anyone with half a brain will heed.”
There was a mumbling of agreements.
“But,” Creevey piped up, “surely this will get us in trouble this time? W-with the Ministry? If the Minister himself thinks Dumbledore’s lying…”
“All truths come to light eventually,” Luna said dreamily, not looking up from where she was drawing stars and moons on her hands with Draco’s gel pens.
Ignoring the chill that trickled down his spine at her words, Draco looked to the others.
“That is why we started this paper in the first place, was it not?” he asked. “To expose the lies that Skeeter, ergo; the Prophet , ergo; the Ministry of Magic were feeding people.”
“Hear, hear!” said Hermione. “I say let's do it.”
The assent was given with more enthusiasm then, the staff of the Golden Snidget hopping to their feet with renewed determination.
“Alright then, Scarhead,” said Draco, turning to Harry, who was already looking at him, a grim satisfaction on his face. “You’ll have to tell us absolutely everything. Spare no details…”
***
The Triwizard Trap
As a school, we were thrilled when it was announced that we’d be hosting the Triwizard Tournament. We were delighted when the delegates from Beauxbatons Academy and Durmstrang Institute arrived. We were enthralled when the time came for the three champions to be selected.
We were mystified when Harry Potter was chosen as a fourth.
Outraged at first, but quickly enamoured after he defeated a Hungarian Horntail in the first task, we rode the high of the excitement, the daring shown by the four champions.
We all know that in the end, Potter won the tournament, and we all saw how it ended and the confusion the crowd felt when he threw the Triwizard Cup to the ground and rushed from the stage. This is because of the events that transpired during the third and final task.
Potter's name wasn’t put in the Goblet of Fire as a practical joke, it wasn’t a prank by an older student.
It was a plot concocted by the followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
A Death Eater had infiltrated the walls of Hogwarts.
Bartemius Crouch Jr, a convicted follower of You-Know-Who who escaped Azkaban in 1983, had been using Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself as our caretaker, Filch, for the better part of the academic year.
Multiple Slytherins can attest to the fact that Mrs Norris, Filch’s beloved cat, who rarely left his side, had been acting strangely all year. She was found hiding in the dungeons, and went missing for a portion of the year.
Professor Snape says, ‘I have indeed found myself missing quantities of Boomslang Skin and Fluxweed at various times throughout the year, both partial ingredients needed to brew Polyjuice Potion.’
Did anyone notice that one of the judges went missing after the first task? Barty Crouch Jr disguised as Filch was responsible for the hospitalisation and then disappearance of his own father.
Barty Crouch Jr was following the orders of You-Know-Who, who has steadily been growing stronger. The act of terrorism at the 1994 Quidditch World Cup was a warning. A warning we failed to heed.
Barty Crouch Jr enchanted the Triwizard Cup to become a Portkey, and ensured Potter would get to it first in the maze during the third task. The Portkey then took Potter to a graveyard, where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rose with the help of his loyal followers, who took Potter’s blood to perform a ritual: a regenerative potion to restore You-Know-Who to his full power.
The tournament wasn’t a game.
It was a trap for the Boy-Who-Lived.
This triwizard triumph is tainted by the knowledge that the darkest wizard of our time has returned…
“This has to be the most sombre story we’ve ever run,” Pansy murmured.
“It was the right thing to do,” said Harry, so firm it brooked no room for argument.
“Did we get everything?” Draco asked, his eyes tiredly skimming the page.
They were gathered in the shade of the cloisters, Draco with his Snakes and Lions, all of them escaping the heat of the sun.
Their most controversial edition of The Golden Snidget yet had gone out that morning to a very mixed reaction. While some immediately laughed and called ‘griffinshit,’ others seemed genuinely terrified at the prospect of Riddle’s return.
The picture splashed across the front page was one of all four champions, the smiling faces a stark contrast to the words of the article printed around it.
“Nah, this can’t be real, can it?” said a Hufflepuff in passing.
“I mean, they were right about Rita Skeeter, weren't they?” said another, their voices fading as they disappeared down the corridor.
“Indeed, I find it a most compelling account of events,” said another voice, one that certainly didn't belong to a student.
They all turned to see Dumbledore standing there, reading a copy of the Snidget .
“Professor Dumbledore!” they all exclaimed at once.
Dumbledore promptly rolled the paper up, folding his arms behind his back. “Hello all,” he said simply. “I was wondering if I might have a word with Draco?”
Draco got to his feet, all at once uncertain and unnerved. “Certainly, sir,” he said, before following after the bearded wizard.
“Am I in trouble, sir?” he asked as they strolled along the cloisters.
“Quite the contrary,” Dumbledore said softly. “I am most pleased at the display of courage. I thank you for printing the truth for all to see.”
Draco calmed slightly. That is, until Dumbledore spoke again.
“However,” he said, “l must also warn you. While it is incredibly important to ensure people are aware, this may be seen only as fear-mongering. Your entire staff may be labelled as loopy as I am on a daily basis.”
“They can think what they like,” Draco said adamantly. “The truth will bite them on the ars – ah – bum eventually.”
Dumbledore’s silvery moustache twitched. “Quite.”
He unrolled his copy of The Golden Snidget yet again. “And it’s most certainly a thorough account of events, even going so far as to interview the house-elf who caught Bartemius Crouch Jr,” he said thoughtfully. “I do find it most curious that a simple elf alone was able to apprehend the culprit.”
Panic arose in Draco. He tamped it down as quick as it came, reinforcing his mental walls as he met Dumbledore’s twinkling eye. “Yes, well, it is a known fact that elf magic is more powerful than that of wix,” he said swiftly.
Dumbledore hummed softly. “Indeed,” he murmured. “Alas, if there’s one thing I’ve come to understand in my many years roaming this earth, it is that a true friend will accept whatever truth one bares to them.”
Draco froze.
Did Dumbledore know it’d been him and Pansy who had taken out Crouch Jr? Or worse: did he know about the Journal? If so, how? How could he have possibly found out, unless Pansy – ?!
“Did you know it was your father who was working to bring back Lord Voldemort, Draco?” Dumbledore asked calmly.
Oh, thank Merlin.
“I did not, sir,” Draco answered truthfully. “I knew he still supported Riddle, and I knew he was part of the attack at the World Cup. I suspected he might be helping him, but I didn’t know for certain.”
Dumbledore let out a thoughtful hum, before sending his copy of the Snidget up in a puff of lavender smoke, knitting his fingers together before him.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “Let it be known that if there is anything else you would like to say, the walls themselves are always here to lend an ear.”
Frowning in pure bafflement, Draco watched his crackpot Headmaster stroll away in a swirl of stars and moons.
***
That evening's End of Year Feast sported the usual works: floating candles, house banners, the tables straining under the weight of the piles of food laid out on them.
The only exception was, of course, the twenty-four dots of powder blue and blood red seated along the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables for the very last time.
Draco sat down next to Erik, who gave him his usual crooked grin.
“Nice hat,” he said by way of greeting.
Draco adjusted his pointed cap with a roll of his eyes. “You know I wouldn't be wearing it if I had a choice.”
“I cannot believe this is our last meal at Hogwarts,” Nikolaj sighed as he poured gravy over his mash. “I wish Durmstrang food was this homely and comforting.”
Draco snorted. “I tend to get fed up with the rotation of potatoes, boiled vegetables, and gravy.”
“I don't!” said Vince, shovelling a forkful of steak and kidney pie in his gob. “Good food is good food!”
“It not unlike meals at Durmstrang, Hogwarts obviously has better cooks,” Krum grumbled, taking a huge bite out of a lamb chop.
“I definitely haven't missed the smell of fish boiling in the kitchens every day,” Katrina said, her nose wrinkling.
“Eurgh,” Nikolaj grimaced. “I hate the fish.”
“There’s a smoked eel with your name on when we get home, Nik,” Erik laughed, nudging the sandy-haired boy, who was now looking rather green.
They all looked to the teacher's table when there came the tinkling of cutlery against glass, finding Dumbledore rising from his seat with an uncharacteristically sombre expression.
“Another year at Hogwarts has finally come to an end…” he began before delving into his usual speech. Draco quickly lost interest, rolling his eyes as Dumbledore droned on about the yearly achievements and the tournament... That is, until a particular sentence snagged his attention again.
“I realise many of you have been at odds with a certain article printed in our recently founded school newspaper,” Dumbledore spoke loudly and clearly to the room, “and that many of you may have your doubts over the topic it addresses... Now, the Ministry of Magic does not wish for me to tell you this, but I'm afraid I must inform you all that the words printed in The Golden Snidget ring true. Lord Voldemort has indeed returned.”
The hall exploded into a cacophony of fearful murmurs and outraged whispers.
“So that is why Karkaroff abandoned us,” Erik muttered darkly. “He has fled like a coward.”
Sure enough, up at the teachers’ table, Karkaroff's seat next to Madame Maxime was empty.
“It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have told you this,” Dumbledore carried on, raising a silencing hand. “Either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies…
“Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort. He risked his own life the night of the third task, and showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honour him.”
Dumbledore promptly rose from his seat and held his goblet aloft. The rest of the hall followed suit, everyone climbing to their feet and toasting to Harry.
Draco looked over to the Gryffindor table, instantly finding that mop of scruffy hair in the crowd, startling only a little as he found those green eyes were already trained on him.
Draco managed a very tight-lipped smile, exaggeratedly raising his own goblet in Harry’s name.
***
The last day of term dawned bright and blindingly sunny, the summer sun feeling almost mocking in its mellowness. After packing his suitcase and enduring a very heartfelt breakfast with plenty of farewells, Draco made his way down to the Durmstrang ship with his Snakes and Lions to bid the delegates goodbye.
They were just stepping onto the sandy shore of the lake when a voice rang out.
“‘Arry!”
Fleur was hurrying across the grassy bank towards them. Beyond her, far across the grounds, the Beauxbatons carriage awaited; Hagrid strapping Madame Maxime’s ginormous winged horses into their harnesses.
“We will see each other again, I ‘ope,” said Fleur as she reached them, holding out her hand to Harry. “I am ‘oping to get a job ‘ere, to improve my English.”
“It’s very good already,” said Ronald, sounding strangled. Fleur smiled brightly at him; Hermione scowled.
“And you, Draco!” Fleur said, beaming, before switching to French. “My cousin! It has been a delight becoming acquainted with another branch of my family tree.”
“Indeed,” Draco replied, “I wish you well on your travels, and hope that you’ll find comfort going back to Toulouse to enjoy the finer things life has to offer.”
“I have a large country estate if you ever want to come visit!” Pansy butted into their conversation, her French somewhat frantic. “Very lavish and extravagant!”
Fleur laughed heartily. “Merci, miss Parkinson! I’ll look forward to an invitation for tea! ” she said, turning to go. “Au revoir! It ‘as been a pleasure meeting you all!”
They all waved goodbye as Fleur rushed back to the carriage, her silvery hair glistening in the sunlight.
“I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave,” Pansy sighed forlornly.
“Wonder how the Durmstrang students are getting back,” Ronald mused as they turned back to the ship. “D’you reckon they can steer that thing without Karkaroff?”
“Karkaroff did not steer,” said a gruff voice. “He stayed in his cabin and let us do the work.”
Krum was ambling down the gangway, quickly followed by Erik, Katrina, and Nikolaj, all of whom were smiling.
Hermione quickly followed Krum to a spot some way down the bank.
“You’d better hurry up!” Ronald called loudly after them. “Don’t wanna miss the carriages!”
Draco looked at Erik just in time to see him rushing towards him. He yelped as he was yanked away from solid ground and spun around. He squawked at Erik to put him down, laughing nonetheless.
“You have made this trip such a fun experience!” Erik exclaimed once he’d set Draco down again. “It is a shame you were so unwell for our last full week together.”
Draco cleared his throat, eyes darting to the others and back to Erik. “Yes, well, shall we…?” He trailed off, gesturing to an area a few feet away.
“I would like to give you my address, if you would like to write to me,” Erik said in his sing-song accent as they strolled along the bank, passing Draco a piece of parchment.
Draco took it, smiling. “Of course I will. You’ve been a good friend to me.”
Erik laughed merrily. “Ja!” he said with a sharp inhale. “This has been a lot of fun. I’m glad we’re clear I am not your person.”
“My person?” Draco echoed, raising a brow as a snort bubbled up his throat.
“You do have a person, I can see it in here,” he said, pointing to Draco’s chest with a wink. “And I think we both know who it is.”
He slanted a glance over to where the others stood, and Draco followed his gaze, finding his Snakes and Ronald in conversation with Nikolaj and Katrina. Harry, however, seemed to be looking over at Draco and Erik, squinting in the harsh sunlight…
“It is such a deep and ancient magic, having that one person,” Erik then said with a sigh, drawing Draco’s attention back to him. “It is okay, I was not looking to steal a heart that already very clearly belongs to somebody else, but it really has been a lot of fun!”
Draco blinked. Was it really that obvious?
In a familiar gesture, Erik took both of his hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
Draco smiled, and ducked his head, his heart in his throat as it rather suddenly hit him that Erik was leaving. That Draco may never see him again…
“I’ve really enjoyed our time together,” Draco told him sincerely. “You were a perfect suitor.”
“And you were a pleasure to court,” Erik snickered. “Though I do fear for whomever comes next, you are quite the fuss-pot!”
Draco swatted at him, both of them laughing.
“I never did find that hidden swimming pool,” Nikolaj was saying to the others as they strolled back.
“Hidden…?” Harry trailed off, frowning. “Wait, do you mean the Prefects’ Bathroom? The tub is the size of an Olympic swimming pool.”
Nikolaj’s jaw dropped. “ Herregud! At the last possible moment he tells me!”
Erik laughed heartily, slinging an arm over his and Katrina’s shoulders. “Come on! That ship won’t steer itself back to Norway!”
“Eurgh,” said Katrina. “I don’t want to go back to that freezing old castle!”
“The one with no swimming pool bath tub!” Nikolaj added with a deep sigh.
They waved them all off when Hermione came back with Krum, watching as the Durmstrang bunch made their way up the gangway.
“Wait! Can I have your autograph?!” Ronald exclaimed all of a sudden, rushing after Krum. Hermione promptly burst out laughing.
They all stood on the shore, looking out over the lake as the Skíðblaðnir set sail across the dark waters.
“Well,” Draco sighed with feigned theatrics. “It is done. I am officially back upon the marriage market.”
“What scandal!” Pansy gasped, playing along, “However shall you brave the wixen world with the shame of a broken courtship?!”
He swooned into her arms. “I shall have to flee the country lest I face the screaming harpies of pureblood society! Is it too late to stow away on the Beauxbatons carriage?”
They were all laughing, and it only encouraged him to carry on his little scene. “Wait, Fleur, attendez-moi! Take me with you!” he called out as he began rushing up the hill.
Harry grabbed him by the arm as he ran past him. “You’re not running away to France!” he exclaimed through his chuckles.
“Oh, drat,” Draco grumbled, pouting petulantly. “You always ruin my fun, Scarhead!”
He raised his hand to lightly flick Harry’s scar like he sometimes did, but suddenly thought better of it at how sore it looked, and how Harry flinched.
Draco hesitated, before simply shoving him playfully as the others caught up.
Together, they made their way back up to the castle, finding that the horseless carriages had arrived as they crossed the Entrance Hall.
“Aha! Told you so!” Ronald exclaimed as they rushed down the front steps.
“Harry!”
It was Diggory, making his way over to them with Chang.
“Just wanted to say you were a worthy opponent in the tournament,” Diggory said good naturedly, firmly shaking Harry's hand. “And I hope you have a really good summer, see you next year!”
“Really well done about winning the tournament, Harry,” Chang said. Then, in a very odd sympathetic tone, “Sorry about, erm, You-Know-Who coming back, though.”
“Thanks,” said Harry, looking entirely fed-up.
As they watched Diggory and Chang walk away hand in hand, Hermione tutted.
“They don't believe it,” she said, brow furrowed. “They don't believe he's back.”
“Why would they?” Draco bit out as they began climbing into a carriage. “We knew we'd get a mixed reaction. And not all opinions will have changed just because Dumbledore’s ‘confirmed’ it. He's renowned for being as mad as a box of frogs.”
Somehow, they all managed to squeeze into one roofless carriage, with Ronald and Draco perching on the very edge of the headrests, Harry, Pansy, and Hermione sitting on one side, and Vince and Greg squeezed into the other.
Pansy sighed as they began trundling down the hill, away from Hogwarts until the next year. “I had the best night of my life on that ship,” she said, looking at the faint silhouette of the Skíðblaðnir in the distance, drifting over the lake.
“Still can't believe I missed it,” Ronald grumbled.
“I never did find out who I kissed,” Draco said pensively.
“Oh, that was me.”
Draco blinked.
Achingly slow, he turned to his left, staring down in shock at Greg.
“You?!” he spluttered.
“Yeah,” said Greg with a shrug. “Truth or dare, wasn't it?”
Draco sat there, stunned.
“And you didn't think to say anything?!” he almost yelled after a moment, nearly toppling over the edge of the carriage.
Everyone yelled and lurched forward to steady him, Greg and Vince getting there first, Pansy cackling all the while.
“I dunno,” Greg said once they'd all sat down again. “It wasn't a big bother for me. You never brought it up, so, erm…” he shrugged. “Yeah.”
Draco buried his face in his hands, utterly mortified.
“I think you've broken him,” said Ronald after a moment, snickering.
“Greeeeg!” Draco whined, emerging and half-heartedly kicking at his arm below. “You utter oaf! I've been trying to remember who it was all year!”
“Oh, this is rich!” Pansy said, still cackling away. “And you're such a prude, darling! I snogged at least three people that night.”
“Well, forgive me for wanting to keep my dignity intact,” Draco scoffed. “So, we –? You and I – ?” he then said, gesturing between himself and Greg. “Was it as good as I remember it?”
“No, Draco,” Greg said with sympathy, patting his knee. “You were plastered.”
Draco nodded, willing his cheeks to cool down. Upon looking at Harry, he found he was eyeing both he and Greg with a very peculiar expression; a sort of squinty-scowl twisting his features.
It was most likely the glare of the sun in his eyes yet again.
Draco shifted so that his shadow fell over him. The movement caused Harry to look up at him, before his green eyes widened and he turned to watch the passing trees.
Peculiar. But Draco couldn't ponder his odd behaviour for long, as Ronald piped up:
“Next time you snakes decide to have a party,” he said, having managed to stop chuckling, “invite us along, yeah?”
“As if,” Draco snorted. “Slytherin house is very exclusive. We’re extremely particular about who we let in.”
“Oh, you let me in before the Yule Ball. Does that mean I can come, then?” Hermione asked, giggling.
“Oh, yes, you certainly can, Hermione,” Draco purred, primly crossing one leg over the other.
“Oi!” Ronald protested. “What about second year?!”
“What about second year?” Pansy asked at once, intrigue gleaming in her dark eyes.
***
The train ride back to King's Cross was filled with a surprising amount of joy. Draco’s Snakes and Lions clouded their compartment with laughter as they avoided the Erumpent in the room, joking and teasing and taunting each other.
That is, until they reached London.
“Draco, what do we do?” asked Greg, gesturing between himself and Vince.
“You're safe with your family, but what about us?” Vince then said. “Our parents are still going to serve You-Know-Who.”
“You lie,” Draco told them fiercely. “You lie right through your damned teeth. You're Slytherins, I know you have it in you.”
“We probably shouldn’t be with you when we get off the train, then,” said Greg somewhat forlornly.
Draco hugged them both tightly as they got up to leave, one arm around each of their necks. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “If it comes to it, I'm sure I can sort a place for you at my aunt’s house.”
As they left the compartment, he pecked all three of his Snakes on both cheeks. Pansy gave him a weighted, knowing look as she stepped away from him, squeezing his hand reassuringly before following Vince and Greg.
“Right-o, come along my boys!” She exclaimed, slapping them both on the back. “Let's go find someone else to pester.”
“Can we look for the trolley lady?” asked Vince.
Pansy heaved a great put-upon sigh. “You would say that…”
Draco watched them go, his heart swelling with adoration for his Snakes.
“You know, I didn't expect them to be on our side, too,” Ronald mused into the calm quiet that had fallen over their compartment.
“I did,” said Hermione as Draco sat back down again.
He held out his hand as Eltanin swooped towards him, clearly bored of trying to catch the sparkling dust motes swimming in the sunlight. The enchanted horntail yawned, curling up in a ball of painted scales in his palm.
“They’re very loyal,” said Draco, smiling softly out the window at the blur of sunny green fields. He just loved that colour…
The sunbeams reached inside the train, touching Draco's face with their warmth. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes as he basked in the sensation.
The comfortable silence was filled with the sound of the train chugging along the tracks, Crookshanks’ purrs, the ruffling of Hermione turning the page of her book and the rustling of Ronald's sweet wrappers.
Feeling the sensation of eyes on him, Draco cracked his own eyes open again.
Harry was outright staring at him
Draco held that mesmerising green gaze, still smiling as his heart pounded wildly. “What?”
Harry blinked as though waking from a daydream. He averted his gaze immediately, scratching at the back of his neck. “Nothing.”
“No.” Draco scoffed out a laugh. “What is it?”
Harry looked at him awkwardly, cheeks darkening slightly. “There’s… there’s actually something I need to, er, tell you. All of you.”
“Uh oh,” said Ron, and Draco had to agree. The last thing he needed right now was another mystery to solve. Riddle returning was bad enough as it was...
Hermione closed her book, giving him her undivided attention. “What is it, Harry?”
“Right, so… This hasn’t been easy, but, er…” he cleared his throat, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact with all of them. “I think I might – no I do. I do like…both. I like girls, and I like boys. I’m bi. Bisexual.”
Oh…
Oh!
“Harry!” Hermione squealed happily, jumping up and throwing her arms around him. “I’m so happy for you!”
Ron clapped him on the back, grinning. “That’s great, mate! Charlie’s the same. ‘Best of both worlds,’ he says.”
“So, you're not homophobic, then?!” Draco gleefully exclaimed before he could stop himself.
All eyes fell on him. “Why would I be homophobic?!” Harry exclaimed, startled.
Draco wordlessly opened and closed his mouth, embarrassed at his impulsive outburst. “It’s just that, well, you were so uncomfortable around me after you found out, and Hermione said that the Dursleys might’ve raised you to think –”
“Sod the Dursleys, I never agreed with them on anything,” Harry said hotly. “I was just having a hard time wrapping my head around it, that’s all. And I actually need to thank you, Draco.”
“Me?” Draco asked dumbly, his brain still lagging.
“Well, it was you who, er, made me realise,” Harry admitted sheepishly, his cheeks flushing.
Draco’s heartbeat thudded in his ears.
“What?” he asked in disbelief. Heat rose in his own cheeks, his heart soaring.
What, what, what?!
“The Yule Ball. You sort of plunged me right into the deep end when I realised you were gay. I hadn't even considered it an option until then. Liking boys, I mean. And then I thought about how pretty Cho was, then I realised Cedric was really quite handsome too, and… Er…” He averted his eyes, then, looking out the window as he swallowed thickly and said, “A few other boys, too.”
Draco’s heart promptly sunk like a stone.
So it wasn't like that, then.
Of course it wasn't.
He was painfully aware his feelings would never be reciprocated, but he was only just coming to grips with the ugly flare of jealousy at the fact that Harry also now found Diggory handsome.
Draco couldn't argue, because frankly the wizard was an actual dreamboat, but it just wasn't fair! Draco was both handsome and pretty! Who were these other boys? Why couldn't Harry just look his way?!
Nonetheless, Draco felt proud of Harry. He said as much, making Harry’s cheeks flush wonderfully as he ducked his head.
“So, Muggles,” Ronald said through a large mouthful of cauldron cake. “Bit more tightly wound-up about the whole being gay thing?”
“Blame religion and politics,” Hermione scoffed angrily. “And fragile masculinity.”
“S’ppose it must have something to do with the time the Statute of Secrecy was founded aligning with Muggle history, yeah?”
“Oh my word, Ronniekins,” Draco gasped, splaying a hand against his chest. “Don’t tell me you actually paid attention to History of Magic this year?!”
“Oh, shuddup!” Ron laughed, tossing his chocolate frog box at him. Draco batted it away, breaking into giggles of his own. Harry and Hermione soon joined in, as the mirth seemed to be contagious.
And their laughter was a beacon of light in the darkness.
***
“Yoohoo! Dracooo!”
Draco had never been greeted by an entourage when he'd stepped off the train before.
Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted were standing next to Dora, who was frantically waving him over; her hair a mixture of pinks and oranges today. Andromeda was holding up a cardboard sign that Ted was trying to get her to put away. It said ‘DRACO’ in big, green letters.
A few paces away from them stood Draco's mother, as well as Sirius and Lupin.
His mother and Sirius were deep in conversation. Then, to Draco's surprise, they embraced, Sirius patting her on the back.
Draco exchanged a perplexed look with Harry.
They both said their farewells to Hermione and Ronald, Draco pecking Hermione’s cheeks, too, before the two Gryffindors headed towards the Muggles and the ginger brood.
Then, Draco and Harry both made their way over to the crowd of Blacks.
Draco's mother looked very strange, and he couldn't put his finger on it until he realised she was wearing Muggle fashion.
A smart, emerald green two-piece suit with a knee-length pencil skirt, in fact!
Harry went to greet Sirius and Lupin, the three of them descending into a hushed conversation as Sirius placed a consoling hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Draco’s mother beamed when she saw him, quickly stepping over and wrapping him up in a tight hug, engulfing him in a cloud of her familiar and comforting flowery perfume.
“It's going to be alright, darling,” she told him, holding him back by his shoulders. “We are going to get through this.”
“Andy, I'm telling you they only use these in airports, not train stations,” Ted was busy saying to Andromeda as they stepped over to the Tonks.
“And I'm telling you I think it's both – oh, hello Draco, dear!” Andromeda said when they reached them.
“Wotcher,” Dora greeted him cheerfully. “Nice hair-cut,” she said, before promptly darting forwards and ruffling his hair with both of her hands.
Draco squawked in protest, batting her invading fingers away. “Seriously?!”
“It was long overdue,” she told him, grinning.
Draco just huffed a tangled lock of white-blond hair out of his face.
“Hey, kiddo, you alright?” said Sirius, having stepped over with Harry and Lupin.
“I've been better,” Draco drawled, glaring slightly at Dora, who just grinned impishly.
His mother turned her beady gaze on Harry, then. “Hello, Harry,” she said, inclining her head politely. “Congratulations on winning the tournament. Apologies for the actions of my husband.”
“Er – hello, Mrs Malfoy,” Harry replied, somewhat sheepish.
Draco’s mother pursed her lips. “Please,” she said, “just call me Narcissa.” She turned to Sirius. “Well, it was lovely catching up,” she said, pecking both his cheeks.
“Likewise, Cissa!” Sirius said. “And Andy! Keep a tight hold on it.”
“Oh, you know I am, Sirius,” Andromeda chuckled.
“What's going on here?” asked Draco curiously, looking between the adults.
“I was just making some long overdue amends,” his mother replied, smiling at Sirius.
“We all used to be close growing up, believe it or not,” Sirius said sombrely. “Before Cissy, Bella, and – and my brother went Death Eater on us.”
Lupin placed a hand on Sirius’ shoulder then, Sirius smiling gratefully as he reached up to lace their fingers together.
“Right, shall we get going?” asked Ted, breaking the strange atmosphere and picking up Draco’s suitcase.
Andromeda tutted, smacking him on the arm. “Ted! You just don't want to miss the match down the pub.”
“It's a big one!” Ted exclaimed, already shooing his wife towards the barrier.
Draco’s mother tittered lightly, bidding Sirius and Lupin goodbye, before making after them. Dora rolled her eyes, shrugging in a ‘what-can-you-do?’ sort of manner before striding after the three.
Draco looked at Harry, and Harry looked back at him.
“Well. Bye,” Harry said, sounding strangely disappointed.
Before he could think himself out of it, just like he'd done with Pansy, Vince, Greg, and Hermione, Draco leant down and pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek.
Unlike the others, however, it was a little more than a peck, he did not kiss the other side, and he lingered for the slightest moment.
Draco would take what he could get.
As he quickly drew back, Harry looked at him, his green eyes wide and startled.
“Catch you later, Scarhead,” Draco said, managing a small smirk, before swaggering after his mother and trying not to feel utterly mortified at his daring.
He could've sworn he heard Sirius bark out a laugh, but he kept his gaze straight ahead as he caught up with his family.
Draco really had felt like the world would end the moment Harry told them Riddle had returned. But just for the moment, just for one more day, everything was both completely different, and yet exactly the same.