Chapter 1
The hands of the grandfather clock on the other end of the deserted common room hadn’t moved since the last time Draco checked, though he could swear it had been minutes. He itched to go out. It was the final Saturday of the term, and the weather was perfect for a broomstick race over the lake. Its murky waters sloshed placidly behind the windows, allowing the occasional ray of sunlight to peek through at the top of the arches. At low tide like this, one could fly into the caverns, keeping the head down while grazing the water with the tail twigs, and after a few minutes in darkness, make out the lapis glow of the magical algae.
Literally no one in their right mind was still inside. But he had promised to wait for Harry.
With a groan, Draco returned to his book. The second in the series about the adventures of teenage Merlin and Arthur. He had loved the first, but now a whole new cast of characters was being introduced while Arthur was yet to appear at all, and it was boring. Nobody cared for Morgana’s stupid friends; not Merlin, and certainly not Draco. He was tempted to skip ahead, perhaps all the way to the end, and see if Merlin and Arthur would eventually kiss. They were friends, like Draco and Harry. But Draco hoped Merlin and Arthur would become more than that. Just like he hoped—
The distant creak of the serpent door made him look up halfway through the last paragraph (there’d been no mention of kissing). Hurried footsteps clattered down the stone stairwell. Draco put down the book, twisting over the back of the sofa to point out that it was about bloody time, only to see Harry stomp through the common room with his chin tucked in, almost running.
“Potter?”
At the sound of Draco’s voice, Harry did run.
Draco scrambled up and ran after him. “Harry!”
Echoes multiplied the sharp clanging of their footsteps over the grates as they raced through the tunnel to the dorms till it sounded like an army was invading the dungeons. But Harry didn’t turn.
Draco leaped at the door before Harry could close it on him and shut him out. “What happened?” he panted. “What did Dumbledore say?”
Silent, Harry sat on his bed and hid his face in his hands. The dorm was stuffy. Dirty laundry lay in an untidy heap by the cold furnace and the smeared plates from Vince’s late night kitchen raid cluttered the writing desk. The house elves hadn’t been in yet. Draco lingered in the doorway for a few long moments, unsure if he was wanted, but then made up his mind and entered, closing the door quietly behind him. He sat next to Harry, heart thumping.
“Hey,” he said softly. Harry’s shoulder heaved under his hand. “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” Harry croaked, never mind how obvious it was that he was anything but. He sniffed wetly and wiped his cheeks under his glasses, then took them off to rub his eyes, as if that might staunch the tears. “He said…” He shook his head. “He said that my dad was a stag. That was his animal form. And that’s why my Patronus is a stag. Because my dad still lives in me. He said…” Fresh tears rolled out of Harry’s swollen eyes. “He said Prongs ran again that night.”
At that, Harry’s face crumpled. He lifted his hands to hide it again, but Draco was having none of it. Angling himself to face Harry, he pulled him into a clumsy embrace. With a gurgling sob, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s shoulders and nested his hot face in the crook of Draco’s neck.
He didn’t weep, not truly. Not the way Draco had wept after the rabid hipogriff Harry insisted on calling “Buckbeak” had broken his arm, and Harry threatened to stop speaking with him altogether because of the things his parents had said. Harry just gasped haltingly, holding his breath for long seconds to let it out in a burst. Draco felt him grimacing. His tears soaked the collar of Draco’s shirt and Draco’s own eyes filled in sympathy. Mother had held him through so many tearful tantrums when he was younger, he knew what to do. He cupped the back of Harry’s head, squeezing him closer, and kissed Harry’s temple. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Shhh. It’s alright.”
Harry clung to him, warm and heavy and so very dear. Draco caressed his tangled hair and rubbed circles between his shoulder blades, till his breathing slowly evened out.
“I got sdot all over your jubper,” he murmured, all jumbled, his voice hoarse.
“Don’t worry about it,” Draco said.
“Got a hadkie or sobething?”
“Uh.” Draco felt inside his pocket. “Yeah. Here.”
Harry snatched Draco’s silken kerchief, the Malfoy coat of arms embroidered in silver thread on every corner, and blew his nose. He wiped his eyes too, but tears kept leaking from them. Draco nudged him gently, and Harry put his head on Draco’s shoulder, tension seeping out of him at last.
“If you tell adyode about this, Balfoy…” His nose was still full. He blew it again and Draco averted his eyes quickly from the soggy kerchief, oozing into Harry’s hand.
“I won’t.” He smirked. “For an afternoon with the Firebolt.”
“Prat,” Harry muttered, but Draco could hear a smile in the word and his chest swelled.
“Git.” He rolled his cheek over the mess of curls on top of Harry’s head and kissed his sweaty forehead. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” But Harry didn’t lift his head. “Thank you.”
Another wave of warmth coursed through Draco. “Any time, Potter.”
There was another rich, heavy sniff. Harry started to wipe his face with Draco’s kerchief, but changed his mind and swiped his sleeve under his nose instead.
“That’s disgusting,” Draco pointed out.
“Not as much as this,” Harry said, displaying the soaked kerchief. “Want it back, Malfoy?”
“Eugh.” Draco groped for his wand and vanished the thing. He had two dozen just like it in his trunk.
A chill settled on the wet place on his neck where Harry’s face had rested. He had liked holding Harry. Being close, yes, but also, being the stronger one, for once. All of a sudden, Draco became acutely aware of his arm, still draped over Harry’s shoulders, and of Harry’s feverish warmth under it. His nerves prickled. That arm had been there awfully long and Harry had done nothing to free himself from its clutches. Could it be that… he liked it, too?
As if he’d heard all of that loud and clear, Harry laid his head on Draco’s shoulder again. “He also said Pettigrew owes me some kind of magical life-debt now.”
It took Draco a second to remember what they had been talking about. He hummed. “That might come in useful.”
Harry shrugged. He worried the hem of his robe with nervous fingers. “Draco,” he said at last, in the tone of a question, but then went silent.
“What?”
“If you needed a Fidelius Charm, would you—would you trust me with it?”
Draco’s thoughts waded through the mire of his mind. “I think… if I needed a Fidelius Charm, I’d go to my mother first. Not because I don’t trust you. I would trust you with any secret. But because it’s a kind of burden.”
Harry nodded, tickling Draco’s jaw with his hair. “I suppose I’d do the same.”
Draco squeezed Harry’s shoulders. To his delight, Harry shifted even closer and wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist.
“Would you trust me with a Fidelius?” Draco asked, speaking into Harry’s hair in a doomed attempt to get a look at his face.
Harry snorted. “Depends on what you’d ask for it.”
“Of course.” Draco grinned. “My services don’t come cheap.”
They laughed a little. Harry lifted his head, leaning back to look Draco in the eye. “You’re my best friend,” he said simply. “I’d trust you with my life.”
Something twisted in Draco’s stomach. Propelled forward, he kissed Harry on the lips. Quick and clean and it was only after that it hit him, what he had done. He stared, breathless, speechless. Harry’s eyes were all pupils. Brands were being burned into Draco’s cheeks. Harry’s face was red too, though it might’ve been red to begin with, what with all the crying.
Petrified, Draco waited for a reaction. What was that, at the very least. What the hell are you doing, Malfoy, sounded quite likely as well, and, Get away from me, you freak, even more so. Fear clamped all his senses and he was about to bolt for the door when Harry… smiled.
It was a very small smile. So small, in fact, that anyone else would’ve missed it. Confused too, pushing against an equally slight frown. But it was there, and it was enough to keep Draco seated a few heartbeats longer.
Then it gained substance, the smile, lifting Harry’s cheeks and wrinkling around his eyes, and Harry shook his head a little, the way he did whenever he thought Draco was being weird, like when he’d vanished the three soft, tawny hairs that had appeared on his chest over night, or when he cast cleaning charms on the duvet after sitting on it in his day clothes.
Which gave Draco an idea. He flicked his wand at Harry’s hand—the one that had held the snotty kerchief—and his sleeve, and his own shoulder. He paused, then flicked it at Harry’s face too. “There,” he said.
Harry’s confounded smile had turned into the more familiar smirk. “Can you do my hair too? Since you’re at it.”
“Your hair needs a comb, Potter, not a wand.” Besides, it was perfectly clean. Its scent, like mint leaves and strawberries, still lingered on the back of Draco’s tongue.
As Harry hopped off the bed and put his glasses on, Draco’s hand slid into the warm divot he had left behind on the mattress.
“Did you mean it?” Harry said, halfway to the bathroom, and Draco froze again, thinking it was about the kiss. “You said, ‘any time,’” Harry explained. “Did you mean it?”
Draco blinked, rewinding the conversation. “You mean, a shoulder to cry on?”
“Well.” Harry glanced away. “More like, just the shoulder. I don’t plan on doing all this again,” and he gestured vaguely at his nose and red-rimmed eyes, “any time soon.”
A flutter passed through Draco’s chest, but he managed a smirk. “Sure, Potter. You’re welcome to my most excellent hugs whenever you want. Well. Maybe not in front of the crowds of your fans.”
Harry rolled his eyes.
“Just remember—”
“Yeah, yeah. Your services don’t come cheap.” He laughed, definitely blushing now. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
With that, he disappeared in the bathroom.
Draco stared after him for a few weightless moments, then threw himself back on the bed and laughed, only a little hysterically.
They had the compartment all to themselves on the train to London. Draco was slogging through his book to the rhythmic clickety-clack of the wheels. Arthur had finally rejoined the rest of the cast, but he and Merlin hadn’t had a single scene on their own yet, while Morgana’s friend, Guinevere, was shamelessly flirting with everyone.
The occasional sounding of the horn was the only thing to interrupt the silence. Every time Draco lifted his eyes, he found Harry staring out the window at the overcast landscapes passing by. It seemed his melancholy ran deeper, if that’s even possible, than last year, or the one before. Sirius Black had offered to take him in, take him from the Dursleys, but in the end, nothing had come of it. It would’ve been better if the offer had never been made to begin with.
In Draco’s opinion, it would’ve been better if his criminal cousin had stayed in Azkaban. Even if he truly had been falsely accused. Sirius Black was trouble, and Draco hated every word of the oath he’d given that he’d never mention him to anyone, especially his parents. Yes, it was nice to get expensive gifts as atonement for chronic absence; Draco knew it all too well. But otherwise, what good was a godfather on the run from the law?
If only Draco could invite Harry to live with him and his family in the Manor. It’d been one of his sweetest daydreams since first year. He’d spoil Harry rotten with all the luxuries he’d used to take for granted before Hogwarts. With his attention. The Muggles Harry was forced to live with pretended he didn’t exist, Harry had said, except when they ordered him around like a house elf. Draco shuddered. Given enough time, Harry would probably grow on Mother, like he had on Draco, but Father’s grudges were like Devil’s Snare: the harder one tried to shake them off, the faster they held on. Even if Draco could bully Father into taking Harry in, he’d never welcome him, and would likely pretend Harry didn’t exist, just like his Muggle guardians.
Still. In the Manor, Harry would never go hungry. And he’d have Draco for company.
Draco took breath to suggest it, suddenly excited by the idea, but stopped himself just short of making a sound. If he too made an offer he’d be forced to take back, it’d only make things worse.
Harry turned, perhaps sensing that he was being watched, and leveled a wretched look at Draco.
“Cheer up, Potter,” Draco said. “It’s only for two months. It’ll pass before you know it.”
Harry looked away, unconvinced. “Will you write to me?” he asked after a while.
Draco grinned, waiting for Harry to look at him again. When he did, he rolled his eyes and said, “Let me guess. Depends on what I offer in return?”
Draco wriggled his brows and the corners of Harry’s lips finally lifted a bit. But not for long. “Too bad I’ve got nothing to give.”
It was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t be maudlin, Potter. Of course I’ll write. Every week. And be sure to tell me if those Muggle relatives of yours start starving you again. Between Headwig and Oberon, I reckon I should be able to keep you well stocked.”
Harry’s pinched face relaxed a little. “Thanks.”
“Any time, Potter.”
Draco hadn’t meant for it to be a throwback to that day in the dorm; it had been just a thing to say. But now that it was out of his mouth, he was glad he’d said it. Had there been any premeditation, he wouldn’t have dared. And now his heart was pounding.
Harry gaped at him, startled. Obviously, he hadn’t forgotten either.
It looked like he was about to say something, but then he didn’t, and after a while, Draco opened his book again, pretending to read. Pretending he wasn’t hurt.
A long time passed before anyone spoke again. “We’re almost there,” said Harry.
Draco glanced listlessly through the window. The suburbs of Muggle London had replaced the barren hills and meadows.
“Draco.”
Resolved to ignore him, Draco stared at his book.
Harry went on, oblivious, or perhaps just stubborn. “D’you remember when I talked with Dumbledore? You said… When I, er. You said…” But there his courage ran out at last.
Draco put his book down and let out a put-upon sigh. “Need a hug, Potter?”
“Yeah,” Harry exhaled with such relief that Draco couldn’t help laughing. Taking care not to seem too eager, he shimmied to the edge of the seat till his knees were inside Harry’s thighs, and made a beckoning gesture while his pulse roared in his ears.
Harry sat up, and Draco held his breath, but instead of falling into his arms, Harry took out his wand and gestured at the compartment door. “Coloportus.”
The lock clicked. At another wave of Harry’s wand, the curtains closed over the glass panes. He stood up, then, and extended a hand.
Draco would never know how he’d managed a smarmy smirk. “That’ll cost you extra.”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said, but a smile was tugging at his cheeks.
Draco took his hand and let himself be pulled up into a tight embrace. And yes, yes, this was truly quite a bit more than that snotty hug on the edge of Harry’s bed. They were pressed close from the chest to the knees, with Harry’s right arm around Draco’s waist, the left over Draco’s shoulders, and his hot cheek glued to Draco’s ear. Draco swallowed and squeezed him, and Harry squeezed back with more than a hint of desperation. It was hard to say whose heart was beating louder.
A quiet whimper tore from Harry’s throat and Draco kissed his hair. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’ll be okay.”
“Promise?”
“I swear by my wand.”
Harry’s smile tickled Draco’s jaw. “Prat.”
Neither of them moved, apart from Draco’s hand that stroked slowly up and down the rigid column of Harry’s spine. He wanted… he wanted to kiss Harry again. Just a little peck on the mouth—he’d have taken the cheek too, anything—but he was afraid to try. Once could be shrugged off as “being weird”, but twice? If Harry were to ask for an explanation, Draco would’ve hurled himself out of the train.
And yet… there was the appeal of… making it a thing. Something they just did, like girls did all the time with their girl friends. To think, if he could kiss Harry every day! On the cheek. Definitely on the cheek. They wouldn’t even have to hide it. In fact, the more people saw it, the better. It could be… normal.
His skin prickled. That would be wonderful. But would Harry allow it? Was it worth the risk?
The train entered the tunnel. It’d be no more than ten minutes till they arrived. In the sudden and complete darkness, Draco felt Harry peel away. He held on, though. He didn’t want to let go, not yet. At least to the end of the tunnel, please.
But Harry didn’t go far. He turned his head and plastered a big, wet kiss on Draco’s cheek.
Draco felt dizzy. He couldn’t believe it, yet Harry’s mouth was still stuck to his cheek, for whole seconds, multiple seconds! He clung tighter to Harry’s shoulders while warm honey trickled from his chest to his gut, and lower. His hands curled around fistfuls of Harry’s jumper.
“Alright?” Harry whispered, detaching at last, and Draco let out a breath in a hot huff. He was unequal to speaking, and a nod wouldn’t have done much in the dark, so he did the only thing he could think of to do, and kissed Harry’s cheek in return.
Just then, the train came out of the tunnel, and they staggered apart in the blinding light. The sky was clearing. Harry’s eyes sparkled like warm shallows in the sun. His cheeks flushed and lips glistening, he smiled. He was so beautiful, Draco’s throat ached.
And then Harry laughed, and Draco laughed too. He threw himself back in his seat, still chortling, and Harry did the same a moment later. They knocked their knees together.
“Git,” Draco murmured, sending them into another inexplicable fit of laughter. “You should let me have the Firebolt over the summer. That’d just about cover everything you owe me by now. It’s not like you can use it anyway.”
Harry almost slid out of his seat, laughing, though it hadn’t been that funny. It hadn’t been funny at all, but the giddiness would’ve surely killed them if they didn’t let it out somehow.
Then the train started to slow down.
“We better say our goodbyes now,” Draco said, mirth finally letting up.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll try to get some sense into Father over the summer.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably.
At the very least, Draco could insist they take Harry with them to the World Cup. Father couldn’t say no to that, could he? And Mother would support it once she saw how much it meant to Draco. But just as he was about to say it, the train horn wailed, and by the time he could hear his thoughts again, he had changed his mind.
With a sigh, Harry stood up, stretched, then brought down Headwig’s cage from the overhead shelf, and Oberon’s too. Draco rose as well.
“Say goodbye to Headwig,” he told Oberon, who let out a sad-sounding hoot. “He says he’ll miss her,” Draco translated with a wink.
“She’ll miss him too.”
The train pulled to a stop.
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