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Chapter Text

Snowflakes floated softly, catching the light from the street lamps. It was the first fall of the winter, late, but oddly fitting for Harry’s outing to the Christmas Market. The snow settled gently over the cobblestones, layering them in delicate patches of white. The air was crisp and sharp, which just enhanced the smell of roasted chestnuts and mulled cider.

It was everything Diagon Alley should be during the holidays – cosy, vibrant, alive – yet Harry couldn't seem to muster any holiday cheer. He kept moving at a restless pace that carried him through the street like he was looking for something, some sort of excitement, some sort of connection, he wasn't even sure. His hand slipped in and out of his pocket, fingers brushing over his wand, testing the familiar weight before pulling back again. He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding slightly as he wove through the crowd, trying to shake off the static, the itch under his skin. His fingers twitched. He needed to use his magic, felt it crawling under his skin, eager to be used. Instead he bounced slightly on his feet as he paused by a stall offering Winter Wizard’s Ale. He glanced at the line before moving on. He didn't have the patience.

He turned the corner and walked past Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, where George was gesturing animatedly to a group of customers, too busy to notice Harry’s halfhearted wave through the window. He could go in for a chat, but people would recognise him and George didn't need more hassle during the busiest time of year.

He walked on, his strides quickening as he threaded through clusters of shoppers. This whole evening felt stagnant, a pale imitation of the previous years.

Because this year he’d come alone, more out of habit than desire. Last year, he’d trailed along with Ron and Hermione through the Christmas Market, laughing and letting their voices drown out the world’s noise. This year, though, they had finally taken their honeymoon, combining it with Hermione's research that took her all around the world.

He slipped his hands into his pockets again, his fingers tapping a staccato beat against his thigh.

It wasn’t the same without his friends, but it was not just that – he hadn't expended any serious amounts of magic in quite some time. It simmered under the surface, like a bored pet alligator about to snap.

A flicker of temptation had him glancing toward the narrow, shadowed mouth of Knockturn Alley, as if it might hold something to shake off the feeling.

He almost didn't dare to think it, but he felt nostalgic for the end of the war, when they rounded up remaining Death Eaters and rebuilt Hogwarts, when he'd been able to expend as much magic as he wanted.

He just wanted something to do for his magic; that was exactly it.

Then, as if in answer to his revelation, a strange crackle filled the air. Harry frowned, tilting his head, his senses sharpening as he caught the low hum vibrating just beneath the quiet buzz of the crowd. It was coming from the direction of Knockturn Alley.

A thrill of anticipation surged in his chest, quickening his pulse. His fingers wrapped around his wand, finally gripping it with a purpose.

The lights flickered out, one by one, the darkness creeping closer. He barely noticed the crowd’s confused murmurs as he focused on the shifting shadows, his gaze sharp, his breathing slowing. There it was – that edge he’d been waiting for, the sense of something unpredictable, something that demanded action.

A tight, exhilarating calm settled over him as he scanned the street. He stepped forward instinctively, his mind clearing as he moved, his senses sharpening. The enchanted displays in the shop windows around him froze, and for a brief, electrifying moment, the entire street held its breath.

He inhaled sharply over an instinctive tightening in his chest that wasn’t fear – it was the familiar surge of adrenaline, that sharp edge that cut through everything else and made him feel alive.

Then, somewhere up ahead, a scream pierced the silence, followed by the ominous groan of concrete splitting.

His body reacted before his mind could catch up and he was already moving toward the sound, his heartbeat thudding in his ears as the crowd erupted in panic.

Unsure of what they were facing, people stumbled back from the advancing darkness as it swept over the street. The faint, desperate sounds of Apparition pops echoed here and there, but most of the crowd was pressed too tightly together, their panic making it impossible to move. Around him, parents clutched their children to their sides, stall vendors abandoned their posts, and the echo of frightened shouts filled the space where the holiday cheer had been only moments before.

Harry moved automatically, a sense of urgency pounding in his veins as he stepped toward the collapsing building ahead. He raised his wand, the weight of his magic coiled and ready.

He let it go.

###

Harry’s arm shook with fatigue, a bead of sweat collecting at his temple despite the frigid winter air whipping at his curls. His breath misted the dark nighttime air as he tried to hold on to his magic, to direct it into something useful.

This wasn’t worth all the Winter Wizard’s Ale or Snowflake Scones in the world, he decided, while his hand trembled so much, he could have been waving.

Around him, the air was thick with panic as someone screamed while running for safety. It hadn't been this bad since the war.

Diagon Alley, peaceful for nearly ten years, was hardly recognisable. It had plunged into an eerie silence, filled only with the odd panicked scream and the heavy crunch of concrete.

That’s what you wanted, just five minutes ago, he told himself, magically lowering another chunk of masonry wall to the ground. The cold seeped into his bones, but he forced himself to stay focused, his senses on high alert for any further signs of danger.

But whatever it was, it wasn't tangible like a Death Eater or vibrant like a curse. No, this was in the air, creeping slowly, devouring magic. How do you fight something that spreads like molasses, sucking all the magic out of a street known for its enchantments?

Harry dropped the chunk of wall his magic had caught, his wand arm outstretched before him, trembling with exhaustion. His other arm mirrored the position, helping direct the magic that was barely holding up the building.

And still, confused shouts echoed around him, people calling for family members, while others emerged from the front doors, soot-covered and wild-eyed.

The magic had vanished from the street. This alone would have been bad enough, but apparently, this residential building contained a magical pocket of space, enlarging the living area to many times its actual size. Now, with the magic gone, the building was buckling under its own weight.

A large slab of concrete, the better part of the eastern wall, cracked and began to slide. With his wand still stabilising the rest, Harry shouted another levitation charm, throwing out his wandless hand to catch the falling debris.

He managed, but it cost him.

His muscles screamed in protest, and he could feel his magic tearing from him. The slab hovered precariously and Harry gritted his teeth, focusing every ounce of his remaining strength on keeping it aloft. Around him, the chaos continued – more people emerging, more screams, the pervasive sense of dread growing thicker with each passing second.

"Move aside!" he shouted to no one in particular, hoping people would stop panicking and start helping.

The weight of the concrete pressed down on his magic, testing his limits, but he couldn't let it fall. Not with so many people still running across the street, right below it. He directed it backwards, letting it trickle to the ground slowly.

A panicked owl flew close enough to ruffle his hair, hooting in discontentment. A large wizard, his robe fringes ablaze, frantically tried to extinguish the flames with his wand. When nothing happened, his panic surged, and in his rush to flee, he jostled Harry so hard he nearly lost the connection to his spells. Harry bit his lip and steadied himself, sweat dripping from his forehead and pooling in the small of his back.

With his second hand free again, he directed another spell at the building, safely guiding all loose chunks to the ground.

He was almost done.

He could do this. He had to.

If nothing else, he could put to test what he’d read in Dumbledore's journal the other evening, his fledgling idea on magical stability. If this kept up, he would certainly exhaust himself enough to test the theory.

As if summoned by the collective hope of the scared people around him, a squadron of Aurors Apparated onto the scene with loud pops, their robes billowing around them dramatically. The Head Auror, a stern-faced woman with sharp eyes named Evelyn Fairweather, caught sight of Harry and swiftly approached.

"Potter," she greeted, her voice cutting through the tension like a well-cast spell. “What the hell is happening here?”

“Dunno,” Harry grit out. “The magic just stopped.”

“The magic just –” she cut herself off, the implications sinking in. “Starling! Wattle! Over here!”

Two Aurors detached themselves from the group: an elderly woman with a gnarled face and even worse hands, and a young man who seemed fresh from the Recruitment Programme.

Within minutes, the four of them had stabilised the house. Harry cut the connection, his shoulders trembling from exertion.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Fairweather slapped a badge against his chest, and he barely caught it with his weak fingers.

"Temporary Auror consultant. We could use your help."

Harry pinned the badge to the front of his jumper, the heavy metal causing the wool to sag. At least now some rookie wouldn't try to round him up with the other civilians again, or worse, stutter in the face of one Harry Potter.

"I’ll take the flower shop," he said, pointing to where the huge bouquet above the shop was drooping heavily and in imminent danger of crushing the building next door. Evelyn nodded, her eyes never leaving her task.

###

Two hours later, every building had been secured and thoroughly scanned for any remaining inhabitants. The chaos on the street had mostly subsided, save for the occasional clatter of debris as an Auror moved through the wreckage. The air still held a faint charge, like the remnants of a thunderstorm, leaving Harry both exhausted and on edge.

As he surveyed the area, making sure nothing had been missed, his attention snagged on a familiar figure striding down the alley, cloak flaring as if caught in a dramatic wind. Draco Malfoy. Of course the Daily Prophet would be all over this. It would give them fodder for days. Malfoy moved with surprising ease through the remnants of the scene, the arch of his brow sharp as ever, two distressed barn owls clinging to his forearm, ruffling their feathers as he murmured to them.

Harry watched as Draco paused by the Emporium, his gaze sweeping over the street, assessing the damage. Even in the aftermath, surrounded by the broken remains of magical displays and the faint smell of smoke, Malfoy looked poised and unruffled, his silver-blond hair catching in the dim light as he turned his head, speaking softly to one of the owls. It was so utterly Malfoy – dramatic but controlled, a blend of confidence and precision that never ceased to amaze. His coat, a dark wool with a velvet collar, looked like it had been tailored specifically for him. It took Harry several seconds to realise that it probably had.

“Posh bastard,” Harry muttered to himself.

Harry’s fingers tightened around his wand as he observed him, the dull fatigue in his bones momentarily forgotten. In the middle of the wreckage, Draco looked strangely at home, as if he thrived on this kind of challenge. It was a feeling Harry recognised, but what struck him was how Draco’s presence brought an entirely different energy to the scene – a steadiness that seemed to balance the restlessness still lingering in Harry’s own limbs.

Catching himself, he gave a quick nod as Draco passed, muttering a distracted “Malfoy.” Draco arched a brow, giving a subtle nod in return before turning his attention back to the owls.

Harry took a breath, shaking off the strange energy that had settled over him, and headed over to where a group of people clustered together, remnants of the crowd still hovering uncertainly.

“Everything okay here?” he asked, his voice coming out a little sharper than he’d intended. The small crowd parted, revealing the large man who had jostled him earlier, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and deep shock. The man held out his wand, trembling slightly, as though offering it to Harry for inspection.

“My wand – I can't do any magic,” he said, his voice thick with disbelief.

“Get a Mediwizard,” Harry told the onlooker standing beside him. “Tell them I asked for one.”

Harry took the proffered wand, letting it rest on his palm. It felt utterly normal, but then he'd never been one for wand weighing.

He pointed it at a nearby street lamp extinguished by the rolling magical blackout. “Lumos.”

The lamp flared to life.

“He can't even produce sparks from it,” a bystander muttered. “It's like he is a Muggle.”

Returning the wand, Harry patted the man on the back. “I'm sure you'll be just fine,” he muttered, hoping dearly he wouldn't be made a liar. “What's your name?”

“Clearwater. Michael Clearwater.”

“Okay Michael, don't worry, we'll get you some help.”

The Mediwizard arrived, running his diagnostic spells and frowning at the results. He muttered something about magical exhaustion and prescribed bed rest.

“I don’t have a bed anymore,” Clearwater lamented, his eyes fixed on the toppled building Harry had worked on earlier. “I lived in there.”

Harry patted his back again and moved on; there was nothing else he could do here.

The rest of the press had shown up, sprouting like mushrooms after rain. A young man with an ID badge identifying him as a Prophet employee pushed through the crowd.

“Harry Potter?” he said, barely believing his own luck. “Harry Potter! A quick interview. What happened here, and why were you called in?”

Exhausted, annoyed, and smelling of wet concrete dust, Harry locked eyes with him. “Name?”

“Oh! Powall, sir. Ephriam Powall. Can you give me a statement?”

His EchoSphere hovered beside his head, blinking red, already recording. Harry resisted the urge to snatch it out of the air like an errant snitch.

“You must be new,” Harry muttered, nodding at the EchoSphere. “I haven’t consented to being recorded.”

Powall shrugged nonchalantly. “I won’t use these parts, of course. Can you tell me what happened here?”

Harry pushed off the wall, his legs shaky but able to bear his weight. “Indeed, I cannot,” he said, pulling up the sleeve of his right hand to reveal the magical imprint of several Unbreakable Vows snaking around his wrist.

“Oh, care to share what those were made in regards to?” Powall asked eagerly, starting to count the rope imprints.

Harry yanked his sleeve down again. “Of course not,” he said, his voice harsh. “And I can’t speak to you, or any reporter, for that matter. Except the one I made an agreement with. You should know this. Hence my question about your newness at the paper. Which you haven't yet answered.”

Powall seemed to deflate at the news. “Oh. Well, maybe you could just –”

“No,” a level voice cut him off. Harry turned to see Malfoy, his gaze unwavering as it fixed on Powall. “He cannot. The Prophet has strict rules about poaching amongst its journalists. Keep this up and you won't hit the half year mark. Also, it's considered tacky to record before getting express permission.”

Harry nodded, taking it as his cue. “All of this, I might add, is off the record.” He infused the last words with more than just ire, his magic leaving him in a little burst. The still-hovering EchoSphere shone red for a moment, magically obliged to erase the conversation. It blinked green in confirmation before it turned off completely.

Powall snatched the little sphere from the air, his face red even in the unnatural darkness. “Fine,” he spat, shooting an even darker look at Malfoy. “Whatever.”

They watched him weave through the crowd in silence.

“You look like shite,” Malfoy observed in a calm manner.

He, of course, did not. Harry couldn't remember the last time Draco had looked anything but perfectly put together.

“Fuck you,” Harry replied, but there was no bite to his words. Exhaustion was quickly catching up to him and he probably did look horrendous. “I'm going home.”

“That's your prerogative,” Malfoy agreed, already moving towards a cluster of bystanders.

And then, since he was neither an official Auror nor otherwise bound by any obligation to stay, Harry stopped one of the senior Aurors who knew him, handed back the temporary badge with a request to get it to Fairweather, and Apparated directly into the quiet darkness outside of Honeydukes.

Hogsmeade lay unbothered by tonight's events, serene and beautiful in the winter night with nothing but a few street lamps illuminating the quietude. The windows of the sweets shop were dark, the door long since closed and the proprietor at home.

Harry unlocked the place with a gentle twist of his hand, the magic pouring out of him weak and wispy. He slipped inside, both reactivating the wards and securing the door behind him.

The secret passage was the most direct route, and Harry, shivering from the cold, knew his woollen jumper and knee-length coat were no match for the hours spent outside in the frosty winter air.

The walk through the passage was a welcome relief, but also a reminder of how exhausting the night had been. The underground tunnel, not ideal for fully grown men, forced him to walk hunched for about a third of the way, and several times his shoulders scraped the sides. Nevertheless, he shaved off at least ten minutes of his walk and avoided the freezing cold to boot. A good deal in his book.

Emerging from behind the statue of the one-eyed witch, Harry stood upright, smoothing down his jumper.

He paused, feeling for his own magic. Subjective or not, he did feel better already. Maybe there was something to Dumbledore's writing about one's home levelling one's magic, the implications of which were too much to contemplate right then. He was feeling slightly better, yes, but he wasn't quite up to that.

Up ahead, he spotted Nearly-Headless Nick floating serenely through a stone wall, his ghostly form appearing for a moment before vanishing again as he passed. Watching the seamless transition, an exciting idea popped into Harry's mind. What if he taught his sixth years the Disillusionment Charm? Not full invisibility, just a beginner’s exercise on blending in enough to mimic the ghostly ability to "disappear." It would push them to control their magic carefully. Granted, it wasn’t exactly in the syllabus, but wouldn't it be an exciting lesson?

Harry smirked. McGonagall might disapprove should she find out, but he could already picture the awe in his students' faces. And surely, that was worth a bit of reprimand. And it's not like he had to tell her.

Unwilling to chat with Nick, Harry waited a few moments before heading on. The echoes of his first footsteps barely had time to settle before a soft, almost imperceptible rustle caught his attention. He glanced down the dimly lit corridor and couldn’t help but smile. Gabby was waiting for him.

The golden-coated creature perched elegantly on a ledge was more than just a cat. Gabby was slightly larger than an ordinary domestic feline, her form more robust, hinting at the lioness within her, though she chirped like a cheetah and prowled like a jaguar. What set her apart the most was the thick, luxurious mane that framed her face – a rich, tawny collar of fur that made her resemble a young male lion. The mane flowed around her neck and shoulders, giving her an air of regality and power.

As soon as she saw Harry, her amber eyes lit up, glowing with an intelligence that always caught him slightly off guard. Gabby leaped down, her sleek body moving fluidly as she padded silently towards him. The faint markings on her fur seemed to shimmer in the torchlight.

Gabby brushed against Harry’s leg, her purr resonating through the quiet hallway.

Harry knelt, running a hand along her mane, feeling the familiar warmth of her fur and the faint pulse of magic beneath it. Gabby looked up at him, her gaze steady and knowing, as if she understood more about his evening than he could ever say.

“Miss me?” Harry murmured, his voice soft.

Gabby’s response was a deep, rumbling purr, and for a moment, Harry could almost hear the distant echo of a lion’s roar. He smiled.

Together they started walking, Gabby’s leonine tail with the little tuft at the end trailing along the stone ground.

Down four floors later, Harry pressed his hand against an ornate door with a rounded top frame and a lion knocker. A mere thought of his password and the lock clicked open.

Gabby headed in first and Harry sighed as he slipped into his quarters, letting the door fall shut behind him, glad he hadn't encountered any students out of bed or teachers up for a late night chat.

He sank into the worn sofa by the fire, glad Pippet or another house-elf had been here to start it. Finally he allowed himself to relax fully, letting his head drop back. The heat washed over him, seeping into his bones, but the tension in his muscles remained, that familiar edge refusing to fade completely.

He flexed his fingers, feeling the dull ache in his joints, the ghost of the weight he’d held up earlier still clinging to his hands. He’d thought that all the action, the rush of jumping in and handling the crisis, would have been enough to burn off the restless energy he’d felt simmering under his skin all week, but it hadn’t. Not entirely. Instead, he felt caught between exhaustion and an unfulfilled need for something more, as if all that effort had barely scratched the surface. He sat forward, running a hand over his face, his eyes drifting to the flickering shadows cast by the fire. The night had been everything he usually craved – chaotic, intense, filled with moments that demanded quick thinking and heavy use of magic. And still, he felt that strange hollowness in his chest, lingering just behind the surface.

Harry’s hand drifted absently to his wand, running his thumb over the familiar grain of wood, but the gesture felt less necessary than it usually did. The thrill of the night had faded, leaving him feeling like he’d only just brushed against something truly satisfying yet missed it completely.

Chapter Text

Harry awoke surprisingly refreshed the next morning, with Gabby taking up most of his bed by lying sideways. He pushed at Gabby's back, rotating her, but she stretched out her legs, finding purchase on the duvet and making any further movement impossible.

Yawning, he ran a hand through his hair and got up, letting Gabby claim her victory. He made sure she had a fresh bowl of food before he left, though she barely glanced his way, already half-asleep and positioned in such a way that made it clear she considered the bed entirely hers.

Instead of heading straight for breakfast, Harry veered off toward the Quidditch pitch, broomstick in hand. The early morning air was sharp and icy, filling his lungs with a crispness that woke him up fully. The sky had that soft grey hue that promised a clear day, and the pitch was blissfully empty, just begging for a quick flight.

Harry swung a leg over his broom, kicked off, and soared into the air. The freedom and speed always gave him a rush like nothing else. The winter air tugged at his hair, and he twisted into a sharp dive, feeling the thrill build as the ground rushed toward. He pulled up smoothly, just in time, his heart pounding.

For the next few minutes, he looped and dipped, pushing himself just enough to shake off the excess energy humming under his skin. The rhythm of flying, the familiar pull and lean into every turn, had a calming effect, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realised he needed. After a final loop, he touched down, grinning to himself.

A quick shower later, he headed in for breakfast, feeling more at ease.

Once done, Harry headed to his first class, the third year Hufflepuffs. Since he'd been busy not letting concrete slabs fall onto people's heads last night, he hadn't managed to grade their quizzes in time, which only the most particular student felt upset about.

John did manage to fling an unknown hex at Marvin, who promptly started blowing bubbles from his mouth and nose. Luckily, Madame Pomfrey had sorted him out by lunch and Harry was semi-sure this would count as a normal classroom accident and wouldn't reach the Headmistress’ ears.

Besides that, the day passed smoothly and Harry was glad to return to his quarters after dinner, even if he did have more to grade than usual. By nightfall, the wind had picked up, bringing with it sleet and yet more cold. Harry lit the fire in the grate, patted Gabby for a moment, then headed back over to the huge ornate desk in the corner.

Two hours later the storm outside was still raging, icy sheets of rain lashing against the castle walls with a ferocity that made the ancient stone shudder. Each crack of thunder reverberated through the castle, rattling the old windows in their frames. Lightning split the sky, casting eerie, brief illuminations of Harry's private quarters before plunging them back into the shadows, the flickering warmth of the fire barely holding back the oppressive darkness.

Gabby seemed utterly oblivious, sprawled out in front of the fire on her back.

Harry leaned back in his chair, stretching his tired limbs, eyes drifting to the stack of essays he still had to grade. He sighed. Some days, he understood why his teachers had despaired over students' lack of effort in essay writing. They all blurred together, lacking any sort of depth beyond what could already be found in the textbook. But at the very bottom of the pile, Harry knew, was Cassian Whitmore’s essay. Cassian was this era’s Hermione Granger, and reading his work was always pure pleasure.

Despite the late hour, Harry's stomach gave a low growl. Perhaps a sandwich, or better yet, one of those treacle tarts he loved so much. He could call for Pippet, or walk to the kitchens, the house-elves would be more than accommodating, even at this hour. He knew a break would do him good, but the pile of essays seemed to grow larger each time he glanced at it. Maybe just a quick bite...

Just as Harry pushed his chair back to stand, a sharp, unexpected knock echoed through his chambers – a strange, sudden break in the evening’s quiet. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and that unexpectedness of it sparked a flicker of anticipation in him, a sharp little thrill that cut through his fatigue. He could feel his pulse quicken, his senses sharpening, the idea of anything other than essays and solitude an unanticipated, yet welcome, jolt to his routine.

The quiet, predictable night he’d resigned himself to was suddenly charged with a new excitement. It wasn’t anything he could name quite yet, but it pulled him forward, making him feel more alert, more alive.

He passed Beatrice’s empty portrait which hung near the door and ran a hand through his tangled hair. The hem of his most comfortable joggers whispered against the floor, muffled by the thick, worn rug near the entrance.

He opened the door to find Draco Malfoy leaning casually against the frame. Dishevelled and rain-soaked, Draco's usually immaculate blond hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands. His formal robes – clearly from a function – hung heavily from his shoulders, clinging to his toned frame in a way that was almost indecent.

"I wondered when you’d show,” Harry said, resignation lacing his voice.

Rainwater dripped from Draco's clothes, pooling at his feet. If the world were fair, he would have looked uncomfortable, maybe even chagrined. Yet, despite his bedraggled appearance, a roguish smile played on his lips, and his grey eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Potter," Draco drawled, his voice low and smooth despite the shiver that ran through him. "Fancy finding you up at this hour. Grading papers, are we?"

Harry arched an eyebrow, leaning against the door. "Since when does the Prophet work its employees this late?"

Draco shrugged, his smirk widening. "I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I'd drop by for an exclusive." He winked, his tone bordering on inappropriate. "You know how the Prophet loves your candid insights."

"I live to serve the Prophet," Harry muttered sarcastically.

"Mind if I come in? It’s a bit nippy out here.” Draco stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, shaking off some of the rainwater as he did so.

Harry stared at the wall opposite his door for a long moment. The scent of rain and something indefinably Malfoy lingered in his wake. Harry closed the door, shaking his head with a sigh. "An owl’s warning would have been nice."

Draco moved to the fire with fluid grace, stretching his hands toward the warmth. Harry couldn't help but notice how the firelight played over the wet fabric clinging to Draco's form, highlighting the curves and planes of his body.

Gabby had curled up, but she was only pretending to sleep now, her amber eyes fixed on Draco.

"Oh, trust me, this visit wasn’t planned," Draco replied, shedding his soaked cloak and letting it fall to the floor with a soft squelch. “Hello Gabby,” he added politely, though he didn't approach.

To Harry’s distinct panic, Draco started to peel himself out of his robes as well. Harry shifted, cocking his hip and feeling his joggers slip down slightly. He ignored it.

“Then why are you here?”

Draco straightened, all lighthearted emotion leaving him. What remained was a calculating expression and sharp grey eyes. “Something that requires your immediate attention. Though not so immediate that I can’t first get out of these clothes. Mind if I use your shower real quick?”

Harry stood there, dumbfounded. They were friendly these days, but not friends. Certainly not the type you visit and head in for a shower, first.

But Draco was already striding toward the bathroom, leaving a faint trail of muddy footprints in his wake. Harry couldn’t help but notice how gracefully Draco moved, even in wet trousers and a white, see-through shirt clinging to the toned muscles of his back.

"Make yourself at home," Harry muttered, his voice dripping with yet more sarcasm.

The sound of running water filled the room, mingling with the thunder outside. Light spilled from the bathroom, casting a long, yellow line across the floor and carpet. "You didn't even close the door properly," Harry called, shaking his head.

“I can’t hear you,” came Draco’s echoing reply.

Harry sighed loudly. He could smell the rain on Draco’s carelessly dropped clothes, the fresh, earthy scent of rainwater mingling with the warm, smoky aroma of the crackling fire, creating a scent of damp earth, fallen leaves, and burning embers that poked at a deep memory, one he didn’t care for. It reminded him of those endless months camping in the woods at the end of the war, tempers flaring, with no clear direction or plan.

With a flick of his wand, Harry dried and folded the clothes neatly, and while he was at it, cleaned the mess on the floor, too. Then he called for Pippet, the tiny house-elf appearing in seconds and taking his order of tea and biscuits for two.

With nothing else to do but roll his wand between his fingers, he stared at the not-quite-closed door for several minutes, feeling wholly out of his depth.

Gabby, meanwhile, stretched luxuriously and gave him an accusatory look before heading into the bedroom. She'd met Malfoy several times before, their professional relationship bringing them together several times a year. She'd never warmed to him though, not that Draco held any exclusivity there. Gabby was usually suspicious of people. To this day, she wasn't completely sold on Hermione, either.

Harry was jolted from his reverie when Draco popped his head out, his naked torso glistening with water droplets.

Harry's breath hitched involuntarily. He lowered his wand, which had come up, ready on instinct. No hexing Draco, those were the new rules. He tucked his wand away, cheeks burning slightly at Draco’s raised eyebrow.

“Almost forgot. Students were necking in the corridor near the Astronomy Tower. That brunet seventh-year Quidditch player – the one they all swoon over? And a blonde girl, bit mousy. Ravenclaw, I think,” he said casually. "Thought you'd want to know."

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alaric Thorne and... actually, I have no idea who she is. Could be several. He likes them blonde. I'll have to go break it up."

"No need," Draco interjected smoothly, wiping steam from the bathroom mirror. He picked up his wand and applied a charm to his hair, causing it to dry instantly and falling softly into his face. "I already took care of it. A well-placed hex scared them off. They'll think twice before trying that again."

"Thanks, I guess," Harry replied, arching an eyebrow. "Though I'm not sure if your methods are entirely... appropriate."

Draco laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. “Neither was what they were doing, trust me.”

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other.

“You going to put on your clothes?” Harry asked.

He had a towel around his waist. Harry was relieved to see it looked securely tied.

Draco raised a perfect eyebrow. “No? Why would I put on wet clothes?”

“There are spells to dry them.”

“You’re such a Muggle-born at heart sometimes, honestly,” Draco chided without rancour. “That doesn’t clean them, and if so it’s never quite right. Half the time they’re still slightly damp. We have them washed. What do you think house-elves do with your dirty laundry?”

When Harry, who regularly cleaned and dried his clothes with a spell, didn’t respond, Draco shrugged and purposefully walked past him towards the bedroom door.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, his voice cracking.

Draco looked at him, his gaze holding an intensity that made Harry feel oddly exposed. It reminded him that Draco was used to seeing beneath the surface, that it was his job to do so.

Then he laughed, a sound Harry was still getting familiar with.

“Why, Potter, you almost sound like you’re hiding someone in there. Shall I find out?” He chuckled at the look of horror on Harry's face.

“There’s no one in there besides Gabby,” Harry snapped. “Go ahead, check.”

“Pity,” Draco sighed, pulling open the door and walking inside with a purposeful stride. “Now that would have been a front-pager, if ever I saw one.”

For the third time that night, Harry stood before an open door, with Draco Malfoy just beyond. The crackling sound of the fire filled the room, odd suddenly, each pop and hiss a stark contrast to the still relentless storm outside.

Just then the tea appeared on the little table by the couch, which Harry poured.

Draco emerged a minute later, smoothing down the front of his borrowed shirt. “Now I understand why you’re always in these trousers. They’re exceptionally comfortable, aren’t they?”

“Joggers,” Harry corrected automatically.

Draco looked bloody fantastic in the stolen clothes. He'd chosen one of Harry’s soft, long-sleeved shirts, the fabric stretching across the muscles on his chest and arms in a way that made Harry fear for the integrity of the fabric.

He tried to look away, but his gaze kept returning to Draco, the casual intimacy of the moment making it harder to mask his reaction. The sight of Draco in his clothes, looking so at ease and yet so utterly out of place, left Harry flustered and painfully aware of every breath he took.

“So, if it's not about the blackout,” he asked, clearing his throat, which still sounded unnaturally high, “what do you want? Besides using my amenities, that is.”

Draco’s tone was unmistakably playful. "Oh, you know, the usual. Your thoughts on the latest Ministry policies, your insights on current events, your opinion on whether your colleagues have been sneaking off for a rendezvous after staff meetings."

Harry snorted. "And I thought you were into serious journalism."

"Dear Merlin, Potter. Whatever gave you that idea?" Draco replied smoothly. "Besides, you enjoy our little chats. Admit it."

“No,” he said rather unconvincingly. It was a matter of principle.

“Go on, admit it, I’m growing on you.” Draco smiled, his face open, unguarded, and painfully beautiful.

Harry rolled his eyes, a familiar gesture of exasperation mixed with amusement.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Like a fungus.”

And the wonderful thing was, that these days, a comment like that didn’t make Malfoy defensive or pull out his wand. These days, he smiled wider, like Harry had just given him a most flattering compliment.

Harry belatedly motioned towards the tea, watching Draco's eyes alight over the little display.

He sauntered over to the sofa, set at an angle before the fireplace, and gracefully sank onto the cushions. "You know, working for the Prophet has its perks. Exclusive interviews with Hogwarts' most famous professor, for instance. Especially if I have something to trade.”

As he reached for his cup, the sleeve of Draco’s borrowed top shifted, revealing a thin wrist and a single, delicate silver bracelet. It was an unexpected detail that seemed at odds with his typical appearance, but Harry didn't ask him about it.

Harry joined him by the fire, one hand on the armrest. It was noticeably warmer here, the textured fabric familiar under his fingertips. He decided to stand for now, stepping closer to the fire and turning to face Draco. "Is that what this really is? Another one of your interviews?"

Draco sipped his tea and chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Not quite. Though, if you insist, I'm sure I could come up with a few questions." He slid down in his seat, looking at Harry through lidded eyes. "Starting with why the famous Harry Potter is up so late, grading papers all alone.”

Harry met Draco's gaze. There was something different in Draco’s eyes tonight – something that made Harry's heart skip a beat. Their banter, the tension – it was all becoming harder to ignore. But that’s not what he saw in Draco’s gaze.

Because if he wasn’t reading this completely wrong, and he believed he wasn't, then Draco looked worried.

“Of course I’m grading papers alone. It’s a distinctly solitary occupation.”

Draco sat down the cup and crossed his legs with effortless precision, an elegance that seemed less like a habit and more like a well-practised art. He looked the very picture of old pureblood sophistication. "Yes, well. That’s hardly what I meant, is it? I heard something tonight. Rumour has it, you might not be as single as you claim to be. Thought I’d come and ask for myself. You know, purely professional interest."

Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh, really? And who’s spreading that around?”

Draco shrugged, an infuriatingly nonchalant gesture. “The usual suspect, Evander Price. But it made me think – you haven’t given him an interview, have you?”

“No, of course not,” Harry replied, feeling a twinge of indignation. He rubbed his right wrist, annoyed with this turn of conversation. “We have an arrangement, remember?”

He held up his wrist, showing off his Unbreakable Vows. One belonged to Draco, making sure they both stuck to their professional arrangement.

Draco absentmindedly rubbed his own wrist. “Yes, I remember. That’s why I’m here. The Prophet is doing a series on Hogwarts staff. Each edition features a different professor, some with interviews, others without. You're going to be the last one, and tonight Price hyped it up as a real exposé.”

“Oh,” Harry remarked with a dry tone. He'd always known one day, Price would do this. He just hadn't expected it now. Harry sank into the seat on the far end from Draco, rubbing his face before staring into the flames. When he spoke, his voice was a mix of despondent and resigned. “Great. That'll be a page turner.”

“Exactly. It would be a shame if some scandalous rumour were to damage your reputation.”

Harry chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Since when do you care about my reputation?”

Draco’s smile surfaced, sharp and deadly. “Since I started carefully media-crafting it. Do you know how much work goes into that? You don’t just have fans out there. The general public really want to see the worst in you, in any public figure, really. Convincing them of the opposite is actually much harder than it sounds.”

“Well, as long as your professional prowess remains intact, I suppose.”

“Indeed.” Draco’s eyes sparkled. “Now, tell me, have you read these articles? They’re rather... dramatic.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I haven’t. You know I no longer subscribe to the Prophet.”

Draco leaned closer, his voice a low whisper. “You should. They paint quite the picture of your esteemed colleagues. Some of it’s laughable, really. However, Price’s insinuations about you are… unsettling.”

Harry’s curiosity was piqued. These days, Price never had anything good to say about him “What did he insinuate now?”

Draco’s expression turned serious. “He suggested that you’ve been... less than honest about your past. That you’ve been hiding things. And he, very strongly, hinted at a personal relationship that would be seen as... inappropriate.”

Harry’s stomach dropped but he tried his best not to let it show. “Oh?”

“I know,” Draco said, his voice soothing. “Which is why I’m here. I wanted to warn you before it goes to print. We can still do something about it. And while that is true, we also don’t have much time. The article is scheduled for print just after Christmas. When everyone has plenty of time to read and gossip about it.”

“That's less than two weeks.”

Draco nodded. “It is.”

Harry looked at Draco, really looked at him, and saw the concern etched in his features. It was moments like these that made Harry realise just how much Draco had changed. How much they both had changed.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I would have been horribly blindsided.”

“You would have managed,” Draco said. “You generally do.”

“Still, it’s nice to have someone in my corner.”

Draco’s lips quirked up in a half-smile. “Yeah, because it’s not getting crowded here with Granger, Weasley, the other Weasley, and the other, other one, as well as their parents. Oh, and all your adoring fans.”

For a moment, they just sat there, the firelight flickering on their faces. It was a comfortable silence, one Harry still wasn't quite familiar with.

“Now,” Draco said, breaking the quietude, “who is Ava Inkwood?”

Harry frowned. That was unexpected. “A seventh-year. Gryffindor. She’s on the Quidditch team and has been approached by several professional teams. She’s really good.”

Draco’s gaze drifted into the distance, and he mumbled, “Yeah, that explains it.”

When he didn’t continue, Harry urged, “Explains what?”

“Oh.” Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. He’d been miles away. “That exposé. Apparently, Price has proof that you’re sleeping with Inkwood.”

Harry surged from the seat, his cheeks burning with mortification. “That’s absolutely ridiculous! She’s a student, for Merlin’s sake!”

Draco raised a calming hand. “I know, I know. But as you well know, rumours like this can spiral out of control, especially when they come from someone with a vendetta.”

“Price fits that bill.”

“What, you snubbed him in an interview years ago?”

“It was a bit more than that,” Harry admitted, slumping back down on the sofa, unwilling to divulge anything else.

Draco nodded. “Yeah, I gathered as much.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to think clearly. “We need to squash this before it even begins. This doesn’t just involve me. Can you imagine what it would do to poor Ava?”

“Nothing good,” Draco agreed. “But Price chose her well. If he knows Ava got offers from several Quidditch teams, it stands to reason that her future will be in the public eye.”

“Like mine,” Harry said, trailing off and thinking of the implications.

Draco nodded. “The two of you would give Price fodder for years.”

Harry’s mind raced, but he wasn’t good with such underhanded machinations. He could and would rush in whenever a situation demanded, but this was more Slytherin territory and clearly something he hadn’t cultivated over the years. What should he do?

Harry’s mind screeched to a halt, and he stared at Draco. If there was one thing Harry was good at, it was using all the weapons at his disposal. And here, on his old and well-worn sofa, sat one of the most quintessential Slytherins of all.

“What would you suggest I do?”

Draco leaned back. The answer came fast enough that he’d clearly had a plan ready. “You should undermine the credibility of the rumour before it has a chance to spread.”

Harry frowned, pacing the room. “Like what? Denying it outright?”

Draco shook his head. “No, that could just make it look like you’re trying to cover something up. You need to give them something else to talk about. Something more sensational.”

Harry paused, considering. “More sensational than me supposedly sleeping with a student? Like what?”

Draco hesitated, a rare occurrence that made Harry stop and look at him more closely. “I have an idea, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

“Anything, Draco. I need to stop this.”

Draco took a deep breath, looking uncharacteristically unsure. “We could… I don’t know, pretend to date? Openly. Before the exposé comes out.”

Harry blinked, stunned into silence. “You mean…” he gestured between them. “Us?”

His mind whirled and he couldn't help a tiny, uncomfortable laugh to escape. The idea was absurd, but the desperation in Draco's eyes suggested he believed it was their best shot. Could they really pull this off? Draco had always been good at presenting a composed exterior, but Harry saw the flicker of vulnerability beneath the surface.

Draco nodded. “Yes. If people think we’re in a relationship, it would undermine the idea that you’re involved with a student. And you better believe that The Saviour being in a gay relationship will make headline news. Especially with someone like me.”

Harry’s mind raced. The idea was absurd, and yet... it made a strange kind of sense. It also brought up old memories from when he first wanted to go public about his newfound sexuality and was convinced by others that the public outcry it would garner wasn't worth it.

“And you’re willing to go along with this? Pretend to be my boyfriend?”

Draco’s expression was unreadable. “For the sake of your reputation? Which is very near and dear to me? And the girl, of course. Ava. It’s a small price to pay.”

Harry took a deep breath, weighing his options. “But we need to make it convincing.”

Draco slid his arm along the back of the couch, almost touching Harry’s shoulder. He rested his head on his bicep, his lips curving into a sly smile.

“Oh, don’t worry, Potter. Convincing is my specialty.”

Chapter Text

With little sleep but a plan in place, Harry had two more days of classes left before the start of the winter break. True to form, the students were in high spirits, chattering and distracted with the upcoming vacation, resulting in a fifth year nearly being hit with a truly nasty curse simply for not paying enough attention.

He should have given them writing work, like Minerva kept telling the teachers at the beginning of every school year. Instead he performed the counter-curse himself and spent the next hour on the Quidditch pitch, only returning for food.

He found a discarded Prophet for lunch, leafing through the pages. The blackout in Diagon Alley was still the front article, including statements made by Head Auror Fairweather. So far, they had no idea what had caused the lack of magic, but according to the article, Diagon Alley was almost back to functioning completely normally. Several people were still in St. Mungos, though the article did not go into detail about the reason for their hospital stay.

The writing style delivered facts, curbed sensationalism and still included enough witty turns of phrases that Harry knew who had quilled it before he came to the end. It therefore came as no surprise when the author was revealed as ‘Senior Correspondent Draco Malfoy’.

In addition to that, one of Draco's regular Columns regarding Wizarding Politics and Governance caught his attention. Harry skimmed Malfoy's reports on the Statute of Secrecy where he outlined its history and the growing challenges of remaining hidden in a world increasingly mingled with Muggles. Recent breaches and their handling by the Ministry were highlighted, alongside proposed reforms such as new concealment measures and educational campaigns. Public opinions and expert insights were also discussed. The situation was complex, but Malfoy presented a comprehensive view on the necessary evolution of the statute.

He wondered if Malfoy had written anything else for this edition. The main story and a recurring column seemed like plenty of work to Harry, but he knew Draco also wrote more gossipy pieces, some under a pen name he had only hinted at once.

Harry looked up from his reading when a side door by the teachers table opened. He'd been waiting to catch Minerva all day. But it was just Neville, who nodded at him with a friendly smile before taking a seat several chairs down.

He knew, of course, that the Headmistress had a busy schedule, but he'd sent her a letter this morning, asking for a short appointment. He wanted to make sure she was informed of what was about to happen, since it involved the school's reputation.

His stomach growled and Harry checked his watch. It was time to leave. He'd only come into the Great Hall to catch Minerva, lunch proper was scheduled with Draco at the Three Broomsticks today.

It would be their first foray into public as a supposed new couple and gave them just under two weeks to convince the entire magical community that they were, in fact, dating. A ludicrous idea, no matter how Harry looked at it. After all, their rivalry during school was well documented.

He wondered what people would say. And then, he wondered if he'd care. He had been swayed by public opinion more than once after the war, unfortunately even regarding relationships, but these days he cared very little.

But then, he mostly kept to himself these days, and with Draco controlling the interviews, there was little friction between him and the public. Or maybe Harry wouldn’t mind their opinion because it somehow seemed less impactful simply because he, Harry, knew the truth. The conclusion to that was rather less flattering, painting him as someone in sore need of a spine, so he mostly ignored it.

He adjusted his scarf as they made their way down the cobblestone path toward Hogsmeade, Draco easily keeping stride with Harry’s fast pace. At the start of December, the winter air was crisp and nipping at their noses, but Harry liked it, felt it cleared the cobwebs in his brain.

Any remaining snow had been washed away by the rainstorm last night, leaving behind little more than grey sludge. But as their footsteps squelched along the path, the sun came out from behind the clouds, turning dreariness into a picturesque country landscape.

He stole another glance at Draco. His cheeks were pink from the cold, but his demeanour seemed utterly unflappable.

As kids, Harry had found that countenance distancing, arrogant even. And while it certainly held bits of that, he knew Draco better now. It was a mask, in the same way Harry wasn't the Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, people stopped in the street, asking for pictures.

With the end of the war, Draco had experienced a freedom Harry hadn't, a chance to grow into himself. And while the boy Harry knew had been petty and scared, the man had realised just how effective he could be at his job through being, at all times, charming, flirty and yet unattainable. At least no liaison of his had reached Harry’s ears.

Moments before, on their way out of the castle, Draco had stopped in the hallway to chat to the new Charms teacher, Caroline Jacquard. Harry had watched her reservations just melt away, weary at first, but laughing and bright eyed soon after, tucking her beautiful long brown hair behind her ear after Draco touched her arm in animated discussion.

When Draco had stretched his arm, pointing at something – himself, Harry had realised – in the distance, his fingers extended, long and elegant, and Harry could have sworn he’d never seen such expressive hands before.

While they chatted Harry had time to look at Draco, really look. The cut of Draco’s trousers – short enough to be fashionable by ending above the ankle – tailored to a perfect fit, gave him an effortlessly sophisticated air that clearly won him some points with the fashion conscious Caroline.

His lace-up boots were polished to a subtle gleam, the leather soft and well-worn, a piece of elegance that seemed part of him rather than just any common footwear.

Draco had laughed, a warm sound of inclusion. It was an odd sort of magic, Harry mused. Charisma; everyone wanted it, everyone fell for it. And so, so few people could truly call it their own. That of all people Draco Malfoy, already handsome and rich, would be naturally charismatic once he stopped being a stuck up prick, was just further proof that life wasn't always fair.

It seemed like part of his character now, a layer of easy likeability that kept Harry both amused and confused. Or maybe Draco had always been that way and only young age and a war had kept that side of him from surfacing earlier.

Unhurried, Draco had said his goodbyes to Caroline. He’d strode over to Harry, a genuine smile on his lips. “Ready?” he’d asked, his warm hand sliding down Harry's arm for the shortest moment.

The touch was brief, almost meaningless, but Harry could feel the weight of it linger, as if they’d just crossed an invisible line together. It left him feeling oddly grounded and charged all at once. His fingers twitched, expecting more.

"So, how exactly do we go about this?" Harry asked now. "I mean, what do fake dates entail?"

“Openly flirt with me,” Draco said, utterly nonchalant. “I'll simper appropriately. Then we switch it up.” He said the last thing with a private grin. “Touching would be good, I guess. Public displays of affection, that sort of thing. Whatever feels natural, I guess? That'll help with making it convincing."

Even the winter’s air didn't stop the slight blush from spreading to Harry's cheeks. He forced himself to stay focused. "Right,” he muttered. “Easy enough."

"Relax, Potter," Draco teased, reaching out and squeezing his hand. "I'm a charming date! You might as well enjoy this."

Harry laughed and even he could hear the discomfort in his tone. Draco gave him a soft smile and another little squeeze before letting go of his hand completely.

“We’ll just get something to eat for today, okay? As friends. You certainly don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with. Just talk to me.”

Harry nodded, looking at the path. He didn't mind Draco touching him, which was probably because he hadn’t been with anyone in far too long. He just, quite frankly, missed being touched casually. But he also had no idea of how to tell Draco that, who had clearly pulled back for thinking it made Harry uncomfortable.

“That seems doable.”

“See.” Draco smiled. The collar of his coat had been turned up against the cold, framing his face with a sharp elegance, like he’d stepped out of another era. “Only our rules. Just what you're up to.”

Harry nodded, not looking at him. “Same goes for you,” he said but at Draco's frown he elaborated, “you'll tell me if anything becomes too much? If it makes you uncomfortable?”

“Oh,” Draco reached out, but pulled his hand back before it made contact. “Yes, of course. Don’t worry about me.”

There would be no students to come across, everyone back at school getting ready to leave for the Christmas holiday. That was a relief. Harry wasn't sure if he could handle that quite yet.

As they stepped into the Three Broomsticks, the warm, familiar smell of butterbeer and roasted meats enveloped them. The pub was quieter than usual, the pre-noon lull combined with the holiday season taking its toll. Only a few locals sat scattered at tables, enjoying their meals.

Draco’s eyes swept over the room, sharp and calculating, noting who was watching and who looked away too quickly. Harry felt a strange sort of satisfaction prickling in his chest, the subtle excitement of falling into step with Draco’s rhythm, as though he’d been invited into a dance only Draco knew the steps to.

Behind the bar stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with a head of curly brown hair. He was polishing glasses with a practised ease, his movements efficient and deliberate. His eyes lit up when he saw Draco, and he greeted him with a wide, welcoming smile.

"Draco! Long time no see," the bartender called out, in a rich and warm voice.

Draco sauntered up to the bar, Harry trailing behind him. "Newton, it's been too long," he said smoothly, pulling Harry up beside him. "Remember this guy? Saved the Wizarding World a few years back. Harry, meet Newton, my number one source for all things juicy and scandalous when I’m penning my delightful gossip columns for the Prophet."

Harry gave a polite nod, “We've met.”

Of course they had. He and his sister Melisande ran the Three Broomsticks and Harry came here whenever he headed down to Hogesmeade. It was inevitable they’d meet, though it had been more of a customer/proprietor relationship than anything deeper.

Newton grinned disarmingly. “Usually see you with other professors. Or Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, of course.”

“I hope we didn't do anything worthy of passing on to the press," Harry responded. Knowing Newton regularly talked to the press didn’t endear him to Harry one bit.

Newton laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "Draco won't take gossip on you. Makes sense now, seeing as you're friends.” He winked, as if he was in on some deep secret.

Harry tried to muster up a smile.

It must have been convincing because Newton turned his attention back to Draco. "So, what brings you two here today?"

Draco casually leaned against the bar, his body utterly relaxed. "Just a bit of lunch and some much-needed time to ourselves. And maybe seeing what the good folks of Hogsmeade are whispering about these days."

"Well, you’ve come to the right place. Grab a seat, and I'll get you some butterbeers."

Draco led Harry to a small table by the window, in full view of the pub’s patrons. They sat close, partially due to the small size of the table, but Draco did move his chair closer, too. That was all the concession he was willing to make for now, it seemed. But then, Draco didn’t need to raise his voice or gesture wildly; somehow, just sitting there, he seemed to pull the attention of half the room and Harry felt content to watch the way the scene unfolded around them.

Draco’s gloves came off as he glanced around, soft and perfectly fitted leather, slipping off his hands like second skin – another small marker of his refinement, whether he knew it or not. He probably did, though. Of course he did.

Curious glances swivelled their way, whispers beginning to circulate as they settled in. Whether it was their proximity, which granted, was still not as intimate as what he'd seen here before, or the fact that it was The Harry Potter was anyone's guess. These days, at least in Hogsmeade he could walk around in relative peace, his frequent visits blunting the locals interest.

So maybe this wasn’t about him at all? The other option was Draco. He'd managed to come away relatively unscathed after the war, the blame falling at his father's feet, mostly facilitated by Narcissa Malfoy’s statement under Veritaserum. These days he was a respected journalist for the Prophet, who had endeared himself to the general public over the years. They thought they knew him after reading his curated thoughts every week. Which was rather idiotic, Harry thought.

“Relax, Potter,” Draco murmured, his voice low and close as he leaned in, lips curving into a smirk. Even when he laughed – a soft, understated sound – there was an ease about him, a control that suggested he was used to watching and being watched. “That look of yours seems a tad unflattering for a date.”

Harry felt a small surge of adrenaline, the proximity sharpening his senses, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. But the game, the pretence – it was a thrill he hadn’t expected to find here, in something so simple.

“So,” Draco said, his voice just loud enough for the nearest eavesdroppers to catch snippets, “how’s life treating you as one of Hogwarts’ best professors?”

Harry nearly rolled his eyes. It sounded so unlike Draco, but he knew people would be unable to spot the difference. He breathed deeply, trying to get into the role. He had to do this for Ava, if nothing else.

“Busy as always. But it’s nice to have a break. And to spend it with good company,” he added, trying for a smile.

Draco’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Flattery will get you absolutely everywhere, Harry.”

His tone was so suggestive, a witch at a nearby table coughed into her spiced pumpkin punch.

And that was weird, wasn’t it? Draco never called him Harry. It felt like he was speaking to someone else. But, there was a strange thrill in knowing Draco could steer the entire room with a few carefully chosen words. Harry realised, with a twinge of surprise, that he wanted to know how far Draco could take it – and how well he could keep up.

Newton approached with two butterbeers and took their order, a hearty beef stew for Draco and a classic shepherd’s pie for Harry. He left with a familiar nod at Draco.

Harry laughed, like Draco had said something exceedingly funny. It sounded forced and awkward to Harry's ears, but the sound drew more attention, so he guessed it worked. He leaned closer, his shoulder bumping Draco’s briefly before withdrawing.

It was a small gesture, but it sent the intended message; this was more than a cordial interview with the Prophet’s most beloved columnist.

With a bit of surprise Harry realised he truly trusted Draco, who had had an unimaginable amount of chances to use something he'd heard or saw in one of his columns. Not only had he not done so, but he had made it his mission to dissuade the general public from believing other, less flattering articles about Harry.

Draco hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said he'd carefully crafted Harry's public image; that much was true.

It wasn't altruistic, Harry wasn't naive enough to believe that. Draco was the only journalist within the Wizarding World that got to interview The Saviour, after all. It gave him his own sort of notoriety, the only connection the wizarding public had to the innermost thoughts of Harry Potter these days. The fact that it helped clean up Draco's image further, was certainly calculated on his part.

No, their professional relationship had been symbiotic from the start. That more than anything had made Harry trust in the process. He remembered hearing Malfoy of all people had started writing for the Prophet. He'd thought it was fitting, one of the jobs he despised most in the world, journalist, filled by one of the people he disliked strongly.

Harry had made peace with that fact, that it would come with a slew of unflattering and downright obnoxious articles on his public persona, maybe going so far as to reminisce about their school days, too.

But none of that had happened, Draco hadn't written a single word about Harry for the first seven months of his new job. And then, one morning, Harry had received a very cordial owl, telling him Draco had covered a function Harry had been heavily involved in and would he like Draco to take out anything from the draft he had attached.

Harry had marched into the Prophet's headquarters, right up to Draco's desk. And that’s all it had been, a simple desk in a room with seven other people, not even a cubicle and certainly not an office.

“What is this?” Harry had asked, slapping the draft down on Draco's desk and ignoring the way his action tipped over an ink well.

Draco sighed and quickly drew his wand, syphoning the spreading stain with a quick “Verba Tersus”, which removed the freshly spilled ink but preserved the words on the parchments. He'd sat up, giving Harry an annoyed look. “That was rude, Potter. I'm working here.”

Harry had just gaped at him. That hadn't been the bratty Malfoy he remembered.

Draco had nodded at the letter. “And in the business we call that a proof copy. I sent it to you for approval.”

Harry had glared at him. “I know that,” he'd bit out. “I want to know why you bothered.”

And Draco had leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs with an annoying amount of elegance and looked up at Harry with guileless eyes, “It's considered manners, Potter.”

The, “look it up,” had gone unsaid which in turn had taken the wind out of Harry's sails. But not enough for him to tell Malfoy he didn't want him to print anything on Harry.

And to his utter shock, Draco hadn't, pruning the article until not a trace of Harry remained.

“I won't be here over the holidays and New Year's.”

Harry blinked, the street outside the Three Broomsticks coming back into view before frowning at him. “What?”

Draco shrugged, “I'm vacationing with my mother. The trip has been planned for ages.”

Before his inner eye, a vision of Narcissa Malfoy rose. The last time Harry had seen her was during the trials after the war. He'd watched several, most of which had included Veritaserum. She had walked in, her long blonde hair left to hang loose around her shoulder, dressed all in mourning black. Unlike others, she hadn't grovelled, bargained or pleaded.

She had just sat there, straight backed, meeting everyone’s eye. She'd taken the Veritaserum willingly, answered all questions and then walked out of the courtroom with her head held high. And she had lied, that much Harry knew. He had been there, both during the war and in that courtroom. What she’d said about Draco had not been the truth. What he didn’t know, though, was how she’d done it.

“You're taking a holiday with your mother?”

“Yes, I am.” Draco narrowed his eyes. This was clearly a tetchy subject. “Got a problem with that?”

Harry quickly backtracked, “No, of course not. It's just. Your mum is pretty scary.”

“My mother is a delight, Potter, what are you on about?”

“Let me rephrase that. Your mother scares me senseless,” Harry said in his newfound honesty. “Always has.”

Draco looked dumbfounded. “Well, then you'll have to come over after our trip. So we can straighten out that deep seated misconception of yours.”

Newton arrived with their food, effectively pausing the conversation. He set the plates down with a smile. “Enjoy, you two.”

“Thanks, Newton,” Draco said warmly, giving him his full attention for a second and an entirely too familiar and warm smile.

Newton walked off and Harry watched, mesmerised, as Draco’s fingers toyed with his ring, turning it absently while he looked out the window, deep in thought. There was a practised elegance to the movement, every gesture absentminded yet deliberate. It made his fingers itch, the way it felt like watching a spell just before it took shape.

As they began to eat, Harry wondered if the plan was working, and if the first seeds of their deception were taking root in the minds of those around them. Or if he was just having lunch with Draco. Which, all things considered, would still be a good way to spend his time, he realised.

Harry chanced a glance at his companion. Draco was always so collected, so in control. His pale skin almost glowed in the winter sun streaming in through the windows, and his light blond hair was perfectly styled, as usual.

“I'd love to come,” Harry said, picking up their conversation seamlessly. “ To get to know your mum, I mean.”

It seemed to mollify Draco, who nodded and took a dainty mouthful from his spoon.

They were about half way through the meal when a group of people stopped outside the window. One was holding a camera, a trend that had spilled over from the muggle world. These days, nearly everyone had one, not just specialised geeks like Colin Creevey back in the day.

“They think they're being subtle,” Harry said in an undertone, as two girls and a guy stood with their backs to them, while another guy was taking their photograph, with Harry in full view.

Draco, who had been distracted by a nearby gossip conversation, followed Harry's gaze. Shrewd eyes analysed the scene before he turned a brilliant and flirty smile on Harry, propping his chin in his hand. “Does this happen a lot?” he asked, his expression still slightly besotted and at complete odds with his tone.

Harry shrugged, watching the group get more obvious out of the corner of his eye. “When I go out, yeah. Usually I send a little hex Hermione taught me at the camera. It overexposes the image, making it unusable.”

Draco crossed his legs with practised ease, his trousers slipping up to reveal the soft texture of his long sock, his foot gently grazing Harry's shin. He nodded and leaned in to whisper in Harry's ear. “Why aren't people selling pictures of you doing mundane shit to the papers all day long? They'd fetch a pretty galleon, too.”

Harry wondered whether it had been coincidence that Draco had manoeuvred in such a way that Harry's face stayed unobstructed in the camera's view.

“Don't destroy these pictures. This is free advertisement for our plan.”

Harry pulled back, suppressing a shudder from feeling the heat of Draco's breath against the shell of his ear.

“Good thing I have you here to explain these hard parts to me… Why do you think I told you instead of immediately hexing the camera?”

Draco pulled back, arching an eyebrow in challenge. “Okay then, Mr. Perfect. No need to get your knickers in a twist.” He smiled wickedly and Harry had no doubt the camera would pick the expression up beautifully. Draco gestured towards their food. “Come on, let's finish up. I think this is quite enough excitement for our first official date.”

The group outside dispersed some minutes later, when Newton approached their table, taking the measure of the people outside. “An owl has arrived from the castle for you,” he said, handing Harry a letter addressed to him.

Harry took it with a nod. “Thank you.” He waited until Newton moved on to a different set of customers before opening it.

“It's from Minerva,” he told Draco, still scanning the rest of the missive. “It seems she has time to meet us today.”

Draco dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “You're still adamant about telling her?”

They'd talked about this part at length the other evening.

“Yes,” Harry said firmly.

“Dumbledore really messed you up with keeping things from you, didn't he?”

Harry shrugged. He didn't feel like having this conversation. Several years back he had decided to be as honest and open with the people around him as possible. If his experience of being a child that was left in the dark on highly important matters had anything to do with that, then so be it.

“You agreed,” Harry said, his tone tipping over into confrontational territory.

“I did. And I also registered my doubts about that idea.”

“I remember. You said it made the Slytherin in you want to curl up and die.”

Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed. I stand by that. The more people that know about this, the less likely it is to succeed.”

“Well, I'm telling McGonagall. And Ava, she's directly involved in this. She’d be blindsided.”

Draco shrugged, placing enough money on the table to cover both their meals. “If you must, that's what we'll do.”

Harry slowly closed his mouth, which had been opened to dole out counterarguments. “We will,” he said feeling oddly miffed. Sometimes he missed that Draco no longer fought with him and always reverted back to his more agreeable, grown up self. It was quite infuriating.

He grabbed his gloves, shoving his hands into them. They barely reached his wrists, leaving the Unbreakable Vows visible and his skin exposed to the frigid air because they didn't fit as well as Draco's own pair.

They left the Three Broomsticks after a quick goodbye to Newton, heading back up towards the castle and their newly acquired appointment with the Headmistress.

Harry, still feeling indolent, didn't speak for most of the walk. When the castle was in full view, he sighed and muttered, “You really think it's a bad idea?”

“I do,” Draco said, so calmly Harry had to grit his teeth. “But we'll do it your way. As you said, I did agree to it. I'll stand by my word.”

Harry stopped, forcing Draco to do the same. With his eyes trained on the Forbidden Forest in the distance he said, “We could just tell them we're going public, and the reason for it. And leave off the fact that it's all make-believe. It would still give them a warning.”

A smile as bright as a summer day spread on Draco's lips. “I think that's an excellent idea, Harry.”

Harry grumbled something uncomplimentary and started walking again.

Chapter Text

In the years since the war, Minerva McGonagall had not slowed down. She’d fought to rebuild the school in record time, she’d fought with the Wizengamot and Ministry on a proper syllabus and she had fought to get all those fearful parents to enrol their children again. Tirelessly she’d been looking for sponsors, for donations and charitable offerings until the school was back on its feet.

And now, it seemed, she was tired of having one more front to fight on, the grooves in her face deep and the severe frown evident. The near-white pallor of her skin made it clear she was overdue a holiday.

“This is ridiculous, Mr. Potter,” the Headmistress said once Harry had finished explaining. She looked like a disappointed mother.

Ava stood off to the side, her hand covering her mouth and the tips of her ears red. She hadn't said a word besides a courteous greeting. But maybe that made sense; she was a seventh year, yes, but she had also been summoned to the Headmistress’ office, where McGonagall, Harry Potter and the Prophet's most well known columnist had awaited her.

“What is ridiculous, is the fact that the Wizarding press can write any slanderous idea they can come up with, without fear of repercussion,” Harry said hotly. This topic still got his blood boiling and the last few minutes explaining had done just that. “I've accepted it as part of my public life, but this doesn't just involve me. This article seeks to destroy the good name of this school, as well as one of the students with the most prospects to end up in a public career.”

McGonagall stared at him, her mouth a tight line. “And your solution, Mr. Potter, is to engage in a public display of your – relationship, to discredit this paper?”

Harry stopped his pacing and threw up his hands. “Yes!”

To give her credit, she thought about it. For several seconds, the room was utterly silent. Then she shook her head. “I will take no part in this.”

It stung. For ten years, Harry had worked right beside her, championing her efforts in regards to Hogwarts. He hadn’t complained when it was his fame being used to entice parents back into the fold, nor when he’d attended Charity Ball after Charity Ball. Harry hadn't even meant for her to take part in this, but the flat-out refusal still smarted.

“That's fine,” he said, managing to unclench his teeth. “I merely informed you out of courtesy, anyway. So you can prepare.”

The Headmistress sighed. “Professor Potter. I do appreciate your candour and that you are thinking of the school and the students. But surely there's a better way? If you go public with your relationship, that too will bring down a lot of heat onto Hogwarts. You must know that. And who knows how long this will last? What will you do if you break up before the year is over?”

Harry had to bite his lip. What was McGonagall's deal?

“Surely, the lesser of two evils?” Draco stepped in when it was clear Harry wouldn't answer. “It leaves Miss Inkwood here out of this mess completely. As well as the rather uncomfortable idea of a student-teacher relationship.”

The Headmistress pursed her lips so hard they turned white. There wasn't much love lost between her and Draco, Harry knew. It dawned on him that this could very well be why she was so against his plan. She had never quite forgiven Malfoy for the role he played in Dumbledore’s death, and like Harry, she knew that his mother had managed to lie for him.

Harry wondered if her opinion would change should he tell her the truth, that it was all a farce and there was nothing between him and Draco. Almost immediately, something like spite rose up his throat. If she condemned their relationship because of who they were, then she didn't deserve to know the truth just to make this easier on her.

“Frankly, Potter,” she said, adjusting her glasses, “I'm not sure why we’re even discussing this, when there’s a far more pressing matter at hand. The Ministry has issued a direct decree cautioning all magical folk to avoid these blackout areas entirely. And yet here you are, trying to entice the gossip mongers.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a hand, silencing him. “These blackouts are unpredictable, and the Ministry’s decree is clear. You, of all people, should be setting an example, not gallivanting headfirst into Merlin knows what sort of hare-brained idea.”

“We’ve discussed this at length,” Harry said. His wrist with the Unbreakable Vows tingled but he pushed the feeling down. “It’s not some random impulse.”

“I can’t stop you, of course,” the Headmistress allowed, straightening some papers on her desk that were already perfectly straight. “I must however mention, that no Professor needs to go public about a relationship because of a contrived article. Hogwarts can and will weather this, no matter the path it takes.”

Harry crossed his arms. “My way is better for Hogwarts.”

Something flitted across McGonagall’s face. She knew he was right. “I stand by my words, Professor Potter. Now, if there’s nothing else, I will return to my duties. I do appreciate your thoroughness though, Potter,” she said, her voice measured. Then, as if it were merely an afterthought, she added, “Though I must remind you – again – that tossing Stinging Hexes at your third-years to ‘keep them on their toes’ is hardly in the syllabus.”

Harry felt the tips of his ears redden. “It’s just a way to teach reflexes, Professor. Real-world preparation and all.”

McGonagall sighed, a blend of resignedness and exasperation flashing across her face. “Yes, but I would prefer our students not exit your classroom looking as though they’ve encountered a swarm of angry pixies. Find another way, Professor Potter.”

They left. Just outside the Headmistress’ office, Ava stopped and turned, her smile precarious. “Thank you, Professor, thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I know you didn't make this decision lightly. I can't thank you enough.”

Harry patted her shoulder. “Of course. Always.”

Draco shifted, his boots whispering against the stone floor. Harry just knew he was holding back a derogatory comment about Gryffindors. Instead he said, “It would probably be a good idea, Miss Inkwood, that you, too, are seen with your significant other out in public. If there is someone, of course.”

She nodded, her ears reddening again. “I have a boyfriend. But we've kept it mostly quiet, because I'll probably go to the Wasps next year and he…”

“Won't move with you?” Draco offered.

“Can't,” she corrected, flushing more. “He's one year behind me.”

Draco smiled at her and somehow managed to make it comforting even on his aristocratic features, which lent themselves far better to haughty condescension. “Trust me, that will barely be a flicker in the Floo once the press fixates on us.”

She frowned at him. “But aren't you the press? Can't you write about it?”

“Not if I'm directly involved,” Draco told her. “I can't write about myself, that would be a conflict of interest. My editor wouldn't hear of it.”

Harry snorted, just to remind everyone of his views on the integrity of the Daily Prophet. Ava spared him a look, but Malfoy just rolled his eyes.

“Okay,” she said resolutely. “I'll talk to William, see if he'd be okay with it. Anything to help out.”

She said her goodbyes and they watched her leave until she was out of earshot. Then Draco turned to Harry, his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised.

“What?” Harry muttered. “Just say it.”

Draco sighed deeply, dropping his arms. “I'm just surprised the House of Gryffindor still exists. I mean how any of you survive long enough to procreate is utterly beyond me.”

Harry shrugged, a smirk finally finding its way onto his lips again. “And yet you’re dating one now, I hear.”

“It’s a travesty. I can hear my ancestors turning in their graves.”

“Eh. They probably need the exercise.”

###

The next morning at breakfast, owl post was much busier than normal. For a moment Harry thought their little outing had already borne fruits, but, instead of gossip, it seemed like every parent had written to their child, probably in the hope that they wouldn't forget to pack something for when they left this afternoon.

One of the first owls to appear was Astra, the large Eurasian eagle-owl easily distinguished from the rest, who swooped down to land in front of Harry's plate. Gabby, who for once had joined him in the Great Hall, let out a disgruntled hiss and tried to swipe at the bird.

“Gabby,” Harry warned but she was having none of it, huffing loudly before heading down the teachers table where she jumped into Millicent’s lap, who went on with breakfast as though nothing had happened.

Harry turned back to the great owl. Instead of holding out her foot patiently as would befit such a regal creature, she hopped over his porridge to land unceremoniously in his lap.

“You're the cuddliest owl I know,” he told her while trying to untie the letter. It wasn't easy, Astra was large and squirmy, and she kept trying to nibble Harry's ear.

He fished a treat from his pocket and managed to distract her long enough to get the letter.

“Is she still young?” Caroline Jacquard asked in her faint French accent. She had a fond smile on her face as she watched Astra shuffle into the crook of Harry's arm.

“No,” Harry laughed, trying to rearrange the rather large bird. “She's a rescue. Thought to be nearly twenty years old.”

“Oh.” The surprise was evident in Caroline's delicate features. She tilted her head to the side. “Is she – how old do they become?”

“Up to sixty years in captivity, I'm told,” Harry said, gently stroking Astra’s head. She closed her yellow eyes, evidently in bliss.

Caroline let out a relieved breath. “Oh, c'est une bonne nouvelle! Then you will have her for many more years.”

Harry froze, feeling suddenly awkward. “Oh, no! No, she isn't mine. She just delivered a letter from, erm, from her owner.” He held up the parchment in question. “See?”

“Oh,” Caroline said, slightly taken aback at Harry's adamant explanation.

Astra, meanwhile, had climbed onto Harry's arm and tried to preen his hair, affectionately nipping his ear in the process.

By the time Harry had adequately returned the attention and, with the help of another two owl treats, convinced Astra to at least give him back the use of his arm, Caroline had returned to her breakfast and struck up a conversation with Professor Briarheart, the Potions Mistress who had started working here the same year as Harry himself.

Harry opened the letter, recognising Draco’s handwriting, a precise and elegant script, which seemed to carry his lineage in every stroke – measured, deliberate, as if he’d been trained in it as thoroughly as any spell. He probably had. Harry imagined Draco as a toddler, being taught by some overpaid private tutor to put extra curls on everything.

It appears we need to put in a bit more effort.

What are you doing tonight? We should go out. I'll come by yours after dinner. Eight?

Harry rolled his eyes. “Your dad is a weirdo,” he told Astra, scratching her feathered neck.

The owl cooed happily.

Retrieving a broken quill from his robes, Harry scrawled,

Make it nine, I have homework to grade.

at the bottom of the page before resealing it and tying it to Astra’s leg, her demeanour vastly improved from moments before, after having been given, in her opinion, the correct amount of scratches.

Harry gave her another treat and after a bit of coaxing, she took to the air, taking one lap around the room and getting everyone to admire her enormous wingspan of over six feet. Then she gained height and returned to wherever Draco Malfoy resided these days.

Shouldn't he know these things if they pretended to be dating? Harry made a mental note to ask Draco tonight before quickly scarfing down his breakfast.

Still, he was five minutes late to his morning class. The first years were so excited to return home, they were utterly useless. Harry made them dodge a few harmless hexes and left it at that. At least everyone left the class in high spirits, most of the students giggling uncontrollably from the Tickling Charm he'd thrown at them. Harry watched them scurry out with a fond smile on his face.

The rest of the day took a similar turn, Harry deciding to give each class an age appropriate curse or hex to dodge, one that, should they fail, would test their ability at counter curses. All in all, it was exactly the sort of Defence class he would have enjoyed as a student, the type that wasn't on the official roster given to him by the Ministry.

###

Draco knocked on his chambers’ door that evening at shortly past nine, when Harry had just shrugged on one of the leather jackets he'd found at Grimmauld Place. By the look of it, it had belonged to Sirius during a phase in his life when coolness had outweighed keeping warm.

“How are you with precision warming charms?” he asked when opening the door.

Draco's eyebrows rose. “Hello to you, too.”

“Yes, yes. Good evening Draco, how has your day been, nice weather we're having, oh and also, how are you with bloody warming charms?”

“Fantastic, naturally.”

Harry threw him an exasperated look, but Draco just smirked at him. “You're no help,” Harry muttered, grabbing a scarf from a nearby pile of clothes.

Draco’s smirk vanished. “You wouldn't.”

Harry looked at him innocently as he wound the red-and-gold fabric around his neck. “Hmm?”

“You can't wear – Potter, the outfit you chose actually looks good. You'll spoil it with that scarf.”

“My House scarf? That couldn't possibly spoil anything. I'm wearing black clothes, it's not like it clashes.”

Draco cringed visibly. “Anthracite. Not black. Which works much better with your complexion.” He pulled out his wand, his movement deliberately slow, before recolouring the scarf a dark green with a flick of his wrist. “Who helped you pick that outfit anyway?” he asked, as if to cover his action.

“I can walk over and retrieve clothes from the dresser all by myself these days, you know.”

Draco pocketed his wand before waving him off. “Yes, but you didn't buy this.”

“I could have,” Harry said defensively, running his palm down the front of the soft sweater. “It’s angora. Merino? Definitely wool.”

Draco flicked his abs. “It’s cashmere, you absolute philistine.”

“How would you know, you haven't even touched it yet.”

The look that crept onto Draco's face had heat rising in Harry's cheeks. His last words echoed in the silent room.

“I'm just that good, Potter.”

Draco's tone made something in Harry's chest clench, and he took a step back trying to escape the feeling.

“You wish,” he said, too late and they both knew it, still playing pretend at this conversation.

Harry summoned his wand from the bedroom, tucking it away safely. His smile, though forced, eased some of the tension. “Ready?”

Draco nodded distractedly and motioned for Harry to lead the way.

Gabby took that moment to jump in through the window, the ward that kept the cold evening air out momentarily disturbed. She gave Draco a long stare before slinking around Harry’s feet, rubbing her chin against his calves. He reached down, stroking her soft fur. “Hello, darling. Did you have a good walk?”

Draco shook his head. “You’re such a pushover, Potter.”

“Oh, please. Like you don’t shower Astra with affection everytime she demands it. I remember when you first got her. She didn’t start out as such a notorious cuddlebug.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. And more importantly, you have no proof.”

“M-hm. You keep telling yourself that.”

They headed out, the halls of the castle eerily quiet, their shoes clanking on the stone floor and echoing off the walls. In contrast, Gabby’s steps were completely silent. The only disruption they encountered for several minutes was the Bloody Baron, who appeared in a shadowed alcove, his spectral gaze cold and unblinking as he surveyed the hallway. His eyes fell on them, but he remained quiet.

“I thought the holiday only starts tomorrow?” Draco said, ignoring the ghost. “Seems deserted.”

“The train comes in at ten. I guess everyone is packing. Or sleeping off farewell dinner.” Harry patted his stomach. “It was rather grandiose.”

They rounded a corner, and Harry’s heart gave a small jolt as they nearly collided with a student – a sixth-year Ravenclaw. Gabby continued on, like she hadn’t been surprised at all, walking up to the girl, who had halted abruptly, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of Harry and Draco together, clearly dressed for a night out.

“Oh! Professor Potter, I didn’t see you there!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Gabby sniffed her ankles before sitting down and, with an air of disinterest solely reserved for felines, licking her paw.

Harry smiled reassuringly. “No harm done, Miss Whitby. We were just on our way out.”

Her gaze flicked to Draco, and her surprise deepened into something bordering on admiration. “Good evening, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, her voice taking on a note of eagerness. “I just wanted to say how much I enjoy your columns in the Daily Prophet – especially the ones about wizarding laws. They’re really insightful.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing at Draco with a mix of curiosity and surprise. “You know Draco?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop himself.

Miss Whitby’s eyes flicked back to Harry, and she nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! His writing is brilliant. Everyone in Ravenclaw talks about it.”

Draco’s expression softened, and he stepped slightly closer, his shoulder brushing against Harry’s as if by accident. His attention never left the student as he directed a smile of easy confidence at her. “Thank you, Miss Whitby. I’m glad to hear someone appreciates the finer points of legislation. And it’s certainly nice to know that my work is reaching a younger audience.”

“Right,” Harry said before the girl could do more than blush. “Well, Miss Whitby, don’t stay up too late. And I think you can leave off your Prefect duties for the evening – for once, everyone is where they should be.”

She nodded quickly, still clearly thrilled. “Yes, Professor. Thank you. I – I hope you both have a nice evening.”

As she hurried down the corridor, no doubt eager to share her encounter with her friends, Harry turned to Draco, who had a bemused expression on his face. “Well, that was unexpected. Since when do you have fans?”

Draco’s smirk grew. “Since always, Potter. You’re just noticing now.”

Harry shook his head, a chuckle escaping him. “Merlin help me.”

They had just reached the main doors, Gabby bounding ahead into the darkness, when Harry realised he had no idea what was planned for tonight. “So,” he asked, clearing his throat. “Where are we heading?”

“Have you been to the Potion Lounge?”

Harry shook his head. “I read your article on it. And George went there with some work colleagues for some potion-tasting. Had a good time, by the sound of it.”

“You up for it?”

Harry smiled, already feeling better at leaving his work behind, the chill in the air giving him a spring in his step. “Of course.”

At the castle’s wards, Harry turned to Gabby. “You have to stay here, Gabby. I’ll be back later.”

She looked at him straight on, no chirp or purring rumble forthcoming, while her tail flicked behind her as if to underline her displeasure, but when they crossed to the other side of the wards, she didn’t follow.

“I won’t be long, I promise,” Harry told her unblinking gaze. He sighed. “I’m pissing off everyone today.”

They Apparated to Diagon Alley, the loud pops echoing down the street.

“She wants to come along?” Draco asked, slinging his scarf tighter around his neck. It had clearly just started to snow here, the ground still clear but the snowflakes slowly drifting downward, promising to turn it into a winter wonderland.

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying to push down the vague feeling of guilt. She was free to roam the Hogwarts grounds; she could stop by Millicent’s for some affection and the food bowl in his quarters had been freshly topped up before leaving. “She always does.”

They walked the length of Diagon Alley at a sedated pace, their breath misting the air. It wasn't busy this late at night with most shops long since closed. But the window displays really had outdone themselves, magically animated to stop a passerby and entice them to spend money.

They halted at several windowfronts, watching the scenes unfold. Harry hadn't ever gotten his warming charm, and he was certainly feeling the lack of it. It didn't stop him, though, still pointing at a miniature enchanted Quidditch pitch in one of the windows from Quality Quidditch Supplies, complete with tiny broom-riding players zooming through the air, chasing a miniscule golden Snitch and dodging the tiny Bludgers.

For some reason only known to him, Draco found the tableau funny. When he laughed at the little figurines, it wasn’t loud or boisterous; it was a restrained sound, the kind of laugh that seemed to belong in drawing rooms and private clubs, too upper class to hang around Harry’s more common laugh.

A soft sound made Harry look up. The dark sky looked like the inside of a snow globe, but the faint lights still managed to outline a shape coming towards him at speed. Harry brought his hands up in reflex and would have caught the bird; a barn owl which had very nearly collided with his head. Instead, it hung stationary in mid air, its large eyes blinking in confusion.

“Merlin, I thought – ” Draco broke off, clearly collecting himself. “Finite Incantatem,” he muttered, releasing the Petrificus Totalus he'd hastily flung at the bird.

The owl unfroze and toppled into Harry's waiting arms.

“Did you just protect me from a delivery owl?” Harry couldn't help but grin.

Draco, of course, had already found his composure again. “Natural reflexes,” he drawled. “Can't be helped.”

“Sure.”

Harry removed the letter, and, realising he wasn't wearing his robes, held out a hand to Draco. “Do you have an owl treat?”

“In these trousers?” He gestured down his long legs. They were encased in a tight material that gently shimmered when he moved and was thin enough that Harry could see his thigh muscle flex when he stepped back.

“You're wearing a coat, too.” And a scarf, Harry didn’t say. Draco’s scarf, a shade that Harry was sure had been chosen carefully, lay draped over his shoulder with practised ease, looking every bit as refined as its owner.

“Yes, one with a distinct lack of owl treats, if you must know,” Draco said, somewhat peevishly.

“Sorry, love,” Harry told the owl. “But we're all out of treats.”

That statement was met with a loud, indignant hoot followed by the flap of wings as she flew away.

“I guess you don't need to wait for a reply, then,” Harry muttered.

The letter had a familiar official seal. Harry's mood, having been an odd mixture between relaxed and anticipatory, took a turn towards excitement. He could practically feel the magic in his blood sing, wanting to be useful. Last time he’d been too tired to investigate the magical blackout in Diagon Alley, but he had thought about it regularly. Maybe there was another case for him to explore?

“Mind if I open this? It's from the Ministry, and probably time sensitive.”

Draco gestured expansively. “By all means.”

Harry broke open the seal, his eyes flying over the hastily scribbled lines. It had been a long day, and he had been excited by the prospect of experiencing the Potion Lounge. But he also felt his magic bubbling under his skin, wanting something to do. This wasn’t about the blackouts, but still.

“I have to go,” he said, holding out the letter as explanation.

Draco took it, a frown appearing on his face as he read the words. “But you're no Auror. No Curse Breaker, either. Why on earth would they contact you about this?”

Harry lifted a shoulder before letting it drop again, wearily taking the letter back.

“They call me in sometimes. For emergencies, especially when, uhm,” Harry glanced around, but he knew there was no one around. “When those trained at Occlumency fail.”

“So, you're some whiz at Occlumency, then?”

Draco looked doubtful and Harry couldn't blame him.

“No. No, in fact, I never mastered it.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, Potter. It's fine, you don't have to tell me, you know?”

Harry sighed, the paper in his hand heating steadily. “Look. This thing is a portkey and there isn't much time left. But, if you want, you can come along. In fact, there'll probably be a lot of people, so at least our evening wouldn't be wasted in regards to – uhm, our date.”

“That'll go down well.”

“It happened before. Showed up with Ron and Hermione once because they caught us in the middle of dinner. It'll lend credence to the fact that we were on a date. I wouldn't just up and leave.”

He held out the letter and Draco hesitated for barely a second before grabbing it.

Chapter Text

“Portus,” Harry muttered, activating the transportation spell. Instantly, the familiar feeling of a hook seemed to latch behind his navel, yanking him forward with dizzying force. The world around him blurred, colours and shapes spiralling as if he were being pulled through a swirling vortex. The sensation was both exhilarating and disorienting, as if he were caught in a powerful current. Icy cold air whipped past, mingling with the rush of magic that enveloped him.

Just as he began to wonder when it would end, his feet slammed onto solid ground and the world snapped back into focus. He stumbled slightly, the remnants of the journey’s wild ride still tingling in his bones.

Draco righted himself beside him, brushing down the front of his coat. “Feels like a hangover. Without having a night of fun to balance it, I might add.”

Harry barely registered Draco's comment, his eyes scanning their surroundings. They had arrived at what appeared to be a private residence, an upscale estate surrounded by tall iron gates and high hedges that offered a sense of security and exclusivity. The house itself was an impressive, multi-storey structure, its sleek, modern lines illuminated by discreetly floating orbs of warm light.

He wasn’t sure where in the country they'd ended up, but while the winter night was crisp, it was a clear sky. Instead of snow, the meticulously landscaped gardens were visible, their dormant beauty highlighted by strategically placed pole lights. The entire area exuded a sense of careful design and wealth.

As Harry’s eyes adjusted in the darkness, he noticed several figures standing about, the group as a whole having turned to look their way. Each wore Auror robes, their faces clearly showing signs of prolonged stress – a fact made even clearer by several wands being pointed in their direction.

A tall woman detached herself from the small crowd and began walking towards them; Evelyn Fairweather. Her stride was confident, her posture upright, and even in the dim light, the authority she carried was palpable.

“Mr. Potter and – Mr. Malfoy?”

Harry didn't have to act very hard to look sheepish when he said, “Ah, yes. Your message interrupted our, erm. Well…”

“Evening,” Draco finished with easy pureblood arrogance that further explanation would not be forthcoming.

Harry nodded gratefully at him before returning his attention to Fairweather. “Exactly. Yes.”

“I see,” she said, giving Draco an appraising once-over. “So I don't have to worry I'll read about this in the paper tomorrow?”

“You have my word that won't happen,” Draco told her, solemnly. Somehow, he managed to make it sound earnest.

Fairweather had been several years ahead of them at Hogwarts. She had a commanding presence that spoke of years of experience in the field. Her sharp, intelligent eyes missed nothing as she evaluated Draco at her leisure.

She nodded sharply before holding out her hand for Draco to shake. “Evelyn Fairweather, Head Auror. You can call me Evelyn.”

Draco took her hand and gave it a firm shake, a small smile playing on his lips. “Fairweather, huh? If I’m not mistaken, your great-great-grandmother was a Rosier, wasn’t she? That would make us, what, third cousins twice removed? Always nice to meet family, Evelyn. You can call me Draco.”

Fairweather, who had waited three months to invite Harry to use her given name, smiled at him. “Okay, sorry for interrupting your evening, guys, but we're in a bit of a bind here. The more Aurors I send in the more the magic takes hold of. I need to get my people out.” Despite the easy camaraderie she'd struck up with Malfoy, she eyed him and said. “It's a closed scene.”

“Spell him in,” Harry said as two pairs of surprised eyes locked on him. Harry shrugged. “He's as good as Hermione, and you told me you'd take her for any case. Plus, he's certainly more knowledgeable on dark artefacts.”

Fairweather agreed, pulling out her wand and performing the charm on Draco that would keep him from spilling details from the case while legally allowing him to enter.

That done, she motioned for them to follow her, through double winged terrace doors and into an elegantly furnished living space. Two further doors led off the large room, one closed while the second door stood ajar. Through it, Harry could see at least five Aurors, hunched over and in clear distress. Two had their hands clapped over their ears, screaming silently.

“We were following a lead regarding the blackouts, but we encountered a problem. It's the music box,” Fairweather said, pointing out a nondescript wooden object on a table in the far corner. “Started the moment my men entered.”

Harry felt Draco's soft breath on his neck as they both spied into the room. This calm conversation didn’t feel right with several people in there, writhing on the floor.

“I've sent in six of my best people, all of them in the top ten when it comes to Occlumency, four of them in the top five Curse Breakers, the other two masters at enchantment removal. Several from all categories exceed at Dark Arts knowledge.” She listed their accomplishments in a matter-of-fact tone. Then she pursed her lips, emotion flooding her eyes. “No one got close enough to touch the box. Some have been in there for over five hours.”

“Any specifics on the box?” Harry asked.

Draco looked at him sharply.

“No,” Fairweather admitted.

There wasn't much choice. “Okay.”

“‘Okay’, what?” Draco asked, his speech much faster than normal, tinged with disbelief. He turned to Fairweather. “What is he supposed to do if your best Aurors can't deal with it? You can't be planning to send him in there?”

“Draco,” Harry said, shrugging off Sirius' jacket. “It's okay.”

Draco rounded on him. “You're a fucking professor, Potter. This is Dark Magic, not a classroom of rowdy fifth years.”

Harry magically floated the jacket to drape over the terrace’s balustrade. “Well, I have a bit of training with the Dark Arts, you have to give me that. Also, I completed the Auror training.”

“You completed…” Draco trailed off. “What? When?”

Harry shrugged. “After the war.”

Draco crossed his arms. “And you didn't think to mention this in the years since then?”

“It didn't come up.”

Draco opened his mouth but no words came out. Something flashed in his eyes.

“Should I give you two a moment?” Fairweather asked, somewhat uncomfortably. At least they were selling this as a lovers quarrel.

“No,” Harry said, just as Draco found his voice again and said, “Yes!”

That earned Harry a glare but Draco rounded on Fairweather instead. “You can't honestly think about sending him in there.” He looked genuinely distressed and Harry wondered if it was all an act to sell their story or if Draco was actually worried about him.

“It's his choice, of course,” Fairweather said evenly.

Draco threw his hands up. “He's got a saviour complex, of course he won't say no.”

Saviour complex? Harry decided he'd heard quite enough. He pulled his wand free and stepped into the room. The moment he did, music filled his ears, like someone had turned on the sound the second he stepped over the door jamb. It was a haunting, eerie melody, winding its way into his mind like tendrils of darkness. He felt a chill run down his spine, the oppressive atmosphere clawing at him. On this side of the wards, he heard the cries of the Aurors writhing on the ground.

The room seemed to warp around him, the corners shifting, moving away, and shadows lengthening. Harry could feel the pull of the music, trying to drag him into a trance. He concentrated on his breathing, trying to keep his mind empty because he knew the magic was looking for dark thoughts to pull up.

Each step felt heavier as he advanced toward the music box. The enchantment's power grew stronger with every inch he drew nearer. Visions began to assault his mind – images of his past, his fears, and his regrets. He saw flashes of Voldemort, the Battle of Hogwarts, the faces of the fallen. A voice whispered in his head, you should have stayed dead, just like the ones that lost their lives.

Harry's legs buckled under the weight of the enchantment, but he fought back, pushing the intrusive thoughts away. He focused on the present, on the task, on the next step, nothing more. He knew that if he faltered, he could end up like the Aurors around him – lost to the music, trapped in their own minds.

He was only a few feet away from the box now. The music was deafening, and Harry felt as if his skull might split open. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he saw his parents, smiling and beckoning him to join them. He shook his head violently, dispelling the illusion. He was not going to be tricked that easily, not anymore.

Draco's voice cut through the haze, a steady anchor in the storm of Harry's thoughts. He couldn't make out the words, but he looked back nonetheless. Draco was leaning in, Fairweather's hand on his arm keeping him from entering the magical field. He looked stricken. But why?

Oddly enough, Draco was holding two wands. Why did Draco have two wands?

Another surge of memories assaulted him and Harry staggered, barely catching himself.

With a final, determined step, he reached the table. The box was small and unimpressive, its polished wood surface gleaming innocently in the dim light. But he knew better than to trust appearances. His ears hurt, too much pressure too quickly.

Channelling every ounce of his magical power, Harry raised his wand.

And stopped, looking at his empty hand. Another illusion? Or had he dropped his wand? Was that why Draco held two?

Harry had no recollection of losing it, of letting go. Out of the corner of his eye, something moved against the far wall, huge, its shape discernable for only a second before it camouflaged with the wallpaper again.

He should go and investigate. Get rid of the danger, before it hurt anyone.

He took a step, then stopped, feeling a frown crinkle his forehead. Wasn't there something else he had to do? And why did his ears hurt so bloody much?

He looked around in confusion. There, just beside him, stood an open music box. That explained the eerie music rattling around his skull.

He had to do something with that box, but he couldn’t quite remember what. Everything inside of him wanted to check out that creature clinging invisible to the far wall.

The music got louder, to the point of pain. It felt like his ears were bleeding.

Harry twisted on the spot, crying out. Someone had rammed white-hot knitting needles into each ear, the pain so sharp he nearly crumpled to the floor.

The music, he had to stop the music or his brain would explode.

He glanced back at Draco, who gave him an encouraging, if worried, nod. Harry felt an unusual calm settle over him, a sharper focus than he usually found in moments like these. With a bellow of pain, Harry gathered his magic, feeling it surge through his veins like a tidal wave. He slammed his hands onto the box, his magic exploding out of him like a geyser, focused and powerful.

There was no incantation and Harry wasn't even sure which spell he was casting. All he knew was that he needed it to stop, needed this box to not be. A burst of pure, raw magic slammed into it.

The explosion was immediate and violent, the box shattering into a thousand splinters. The music cut off abruptly, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

Harry's knees buckled with the sudden magical loss, far greater than what he'd expected for a single magical artefact. But he remained upright, clutching the end table for support. His ears were ringing and now his hands hurt, too.

The room seemed to exhale, the oppressive atmosphere lifting. The Aurors around him began to stir, their eyes blinking open as if waking from a nightmare.

Harry staggered again, the exertion taking its toll. He felt a pair of strong arms steadying him.

Draco's face swam into view, his expression a mixture of relief and fear.

Potter?

Harry read the word on those lips, but no sound reached his ears.

He managed a weak smile. "You should really call me Harry."

Draco's grip tightened slightly and he flinched, like maybe Harry's words had been louder than intended.

Then Draco said something else, a whole lot in fact, and Harry's lip reading skills were rudimentary at best.

“Can't hear you,” he said, softer than before. “Can't hear anything.”

Draco's expression took on a tinge of panic. He grabbed Harry's wrist and tried to haul him back out the door.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Not done yet.”

Draco stopped in his tracks, turning a look of utter incredulity on him.

Harry shrugged, twisting his wrist free and turning to where he'd seen that large creature. A faint magical pulse emitted from that part of the wall, nothing anyone would notice after the magical inferno the music box had created.

Fingers wrapped around his wrist again. He looked into Draco's face, etched with concern.

Harry smiled reassuringly. “The music box was a diversion.” The words echoed oddly in his skull, his ears still unable to pick up anything. Draco said something, but Harry didn't know what. Irritation flashed in Draco's eyes and he pressed Harry's wand back into his hand, motioning for him to lead the way.

The piece of wall looked utterly normal. Harry ran his hands along it, feeling a tingle of magic. His wand was in the way, so he tucked it into his back pocket.

The magic, when he followed it with his palms, formed a familiar rectangle. Harry smiled, gathering magic to him. Wind whipped his hair, Draco ducking his face into Harry's back. The tips of his hair tickled Harry's nape in a decidedly distracting manner.

Harry splayed his fingers, pushing his magic forward. It collided with the ward. Strong, so strong. It had to be elemental in nature for it to let Harry's not inconsiderable magic just slide right off, like water spilling over the rim of a shallow bowl.

Harry shook his head. This wouldn't work. “Elemental ward,” he said. “It's impossible to overpower like this.”

Draco slid up beside him, making sure Harry could see him before rolling his eyes. Only you would try, he mouthed slowly enough for Harry to read it clearly.

Harry looked around the room, an antique writing desk stood in one corner. He summoned a silver letter opener and cast the Acuo charm on it. Before anyone could stop him, he cut the pad off his middle finger enough to draw a few drops of blood.

He'd magically sharpened the letter opener a bit too much though and the blood trickled down his finger. Harry shrugged, ignoring the sharp burn. He coated the letter opener in the blood. And then he rammed it, point first, into the ward.

The wall warped as the magic powering it buckled, shuddered, and then shattered like glass. The pieces dissolved into thin air, revealing a hidden room beyond. Harry's vision swam, and he nearly collapsed, but Draco's steady grip kept him upright.

Inside the room, an ancient table stood, laden with old tomes stacked precariously. Runes on parchment were taped to the walls, their intricate patterns pulsing faintly with residual magic. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and ink, mingled with a faint trace of ozone from the shattered ward.

Harry's exhaustion was bone-deep, a pervasive weariness that sapped his strength. It felt as if every muscle in his body had been strained to its limit, and his head pounded with the remnants of the enchantment's assault. His magic reserves were dangerously low, a hollow feeling where his power usually thrummed. This was worse than the other day in Diagon Alley.

Draco tugged on his arm, saying something Harry couldn’t understand. He allowed Draco to guide him to a chair that appeared far sturdier than the rest of the room’s furniture.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to centre himself. The room's oppressive aura had dissipated, but the sense of danger remained. He scanned the space, his gaze landing on the runes covering the walls. Each one seemed to pulse with its own rhythm like a silent heartbeat that spoke of ancient magic.

"Draco," Harry rasped, his throat dry. He made sure to keep his voice quiet. "The runes... can you copy them down?”

Draco nodded, his face set in a determined expression. He moved to the opening in the wall, drawing his wand and, presumably, duplicating the runes. Moments later, Fairweather, having dealt with her freed people, pushed him out of the way. Draco gave Harry a quick nod.

Harry rose to his feet, swaying slightly. Draco shot him a worried glance but didn’t say anything, instead he marched him back out to the terrace, nearly running over another Auror in the process. Harry saw him direct angry words at her but again, none reached his ears. Surely, he’d get his hearing back? Now that the immediate danger was dealt with, that fact seemed more worrisome than before.

Draco deposited him on the balustrade, right next to where he'd left his jacket. Harry pulled it on with clumsy, blood-covered fingers, the chill in the air increased by his magical exhaustion.

To top it all off, he was fighting off a bout of nausea now, the garden around him moving like he was on a ship in uneven water. He knew this feeling, a backlash from breaking the elemental ward.

A Mediwizard ran up to him, running diagnostic charms while Draco talked at the harried looking man non-stop, which was how Harry realised his hearing was slowly returning. It sounded like they were underwater and he was in a tin can, but at least there was sound.

He said as much, which caused Draco's mouth to snap shut. The healer nodded, speaking slowly, “It'll return shortly. Just the aftereffects of breaking that curse on the music box.”

He turned Harry's hands so the palms faced up, showing an array of tiny wounds.

“I've removed the splinters and magically cleaned the wounds. They should give you no trouble, but I'll give you a potion to speed up the healing.”

Harry nodded, the boat at high seas impression immediately returned. He stopped moving his head, afraid he'd barf all over the poor Healer.

He was handed a potion from the floating Mediwizard bag that had unfolded itself when the examination began. He drank it, and it tasted vile.

“Anything else you need?” he healer asked. His tone was unhurried, but Harry knew he wanted to go and help with the Aurors that had been trapped in that room for hours.

“No,” Harry said, firmly. “Thank you very much.”

The Mediwizard nodded, collected his bag and hurried off inside.

The potion wasn't sitting right in Harry's stomach, eliciting the same nausea he'd had when moving his head. He shifted to sit the other direction on the balustrade, facing the garden, some Aurors still gathered behind him.

The terrace was a near half circle, the low wall Harry sat on encircling it completely apart from the centre, where two steps led down into the garden.

His feet dangled now, though not by much. If he pointed his toes, he might touch the grass. When the roiling in his stomach became unbearable, he leaned forward, emptying its contents onto the grass.

“Oh for – ” Draco cut himself off, choosing instead to hold Harry's hair out of harm's way.

When Harry's stomach had nothing more to give, Draco flicked his wand, first getting rid of the mess and then, with a swish, filling the air with faint traces of lavender.

“Thanks,” Harry muttered.

Next thing, Draco's magic filled his mouth. He smacked his lips. “Like I just brushed my teeth,” he decided. A shiver ran through him, because besides the minty aftertaste, he was pretty sure that was Draco’s magic he tasted on his tongue.

“Merlin Potter, you are such a Muggleborn. Don't tell me you use those nasty brushes on your teeth.”

Harry smiled, but he wasn't sure if Draco saw it, standing half behind him. “It's a nice feeling,” he murmured. Why were they talking about toothbrushes, of all things?

“What's wrong?” Draco asked suddenly. He hopped over the low wall, landing in the freshly Scourgify-ed grass. “You're shivering.”

He stood before Harry, just an inch or two shorter now, and tried to catch his eye.

“‘M cold,” Harry mumbled, though he was mostly distracted by the fact that one of Draco's hands was resting on his knee. It really had been too long, he realised.

He got considerably more distracted when that hand, along with the other one, slid up his chest, rumpling the cashmere jumper. But all thoughts flew out the window when, in their wake, warmth swept up his chest.

“Mmh. You really are good with warming charms.”

Draco, who's eyes had just scanned over Harry's shoulder, returned to him. He leaned in, to sell their story, Harry knew.

“Of course. I don't make a habit of lying, Potter.”

Harry smiled, somewhat dopey. He wasn't quite feeling himself after tonight's events. “Unless it suits you?”

Draco, who had been looking worried and stressed since Harry had entered that room, finally cracked a smile. “Exactly so. We'll make a Slytherin of you yet.”

“Got a lot of Slytherin in me,” Harry confided. “The Sorting Hat told me so.”

Draco rolled his eyes, clearly thinking Harry was taking the piss. He wanted to explain, but Draco's hands slid down his thighs, leaving a trail of warmth.

And then there was Draco himself, practically standing between Harry's legs and looking all gorgeous with the lights from the house accentuating his features, his high cheek bones, his clever eyes and, what Harry had learned recently, was called a Cupid’s bow. Harry wanted to touch it. He wanted to do a whole lot more than touch it.

“Fairweather is coming,” Draco warned. He didn’t step back.

She cleared her throat beside him. "Thank you, Harry. You saved my people," she said, her tone one of profound gratitude.

Harry nodded, too exhausted to respond verbally.

Draco fixed her with an unwavering stare, his palms hot on Harry's thighs. “Is he done?”

“Yes, of course, you're free to leave,” she turned, calling over one of the Aurors who'd been waiting outside. She handed Fairweather an ornate key, which got passed to Draco. “Here's your return portkey. Activate it whenever you're ready.”

Draco couldn't get them out of there fast enough. He wrapped his hand over Harry's and made them both grab onto the portkey before muttering the activation charm.

They landed just outside the wards of Hogwarts. Harry wasn't sure if he had to thank the potion – which had mostly ended up on the perfectly manicured lawn of the mansion, he supposed, or if his magic and with it his energy was returning, but he felt loads better the moment they entered the school grounds.

Maybe it was Draco's warming charm, which was still keeping him nice and toasty, while the fresh winter air cleared his mind.

“Someone took a picture of us tonight,” Draco said, his expression unreadable. “They’re planning to sell it to the Prophet.”

“Oh? How do you know.”

Draco pursed his lips, clearly not wanting to share. “I read their mind.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s illegal to cast that charm on Aurors.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t cast a spell, did I?”

“Oh? Natural Legilimens, are you now? That’s new.”

Draco sighed. “It’s not new. I’ve been able to do it all my life. I've just gotten better at it. And I’d be grateful if you weren’t to tell anyone.”

Harry was taken aback. “I won’t. Can you really read people’s minds without the spell? Must come in handy in your line of work. Hey, what am I thinking now?”

“I can’t read you,” Draco muttered. “Never could. Though I got a flash of something tonight; a boat at high sea? It was weird.” And then Draco pushed him against the castle wall, crowding close. Before Harry could react, Draco leaned in. “Someone's coming,” he breathed into Harry’s ear and okay, maybe Harry's hearing was still lagging behind because he certainly hadn't heard anyone approach.

But sure enough, he saw a small group of people round the corner in his peripheral vision.

“Still in a bad mood, darling?” Draco drawled, loudly enough for them to hear, their lips almost touching. From a distance it must look like they were kissing. “Were the kids mean to you?”

“I threw hexes at them. So all in all, I had a great day,” Harry said, honestly.

That startled a laugh out of Draco, his eyes big and beautiful in surprise, dropping the ruse long enough to satisfy his curiosity. “Really? It that allowed?”

Harry shrugged. One thing his mind certainly wasn't about to do, was come up with anything besides the truth. “You can't do anything serious with them a day before they go home for the holidays.”

“Hmm,” Draco hummed, sliding his hands down the front of Harry's jumper, warmth trailing in his touch. “I didn't know you could do that as a professor. Maybe I should have considered the career more closely?”

“They'd probably love you,” Harry muttered, a small amount of envy creeping into his voice. “You're charming.”

A smile spread on Draco's face and Harry knew it was real, the sort of slightly surprised, but flirty reaction he'd seen on Draco regularly, a part of his charming-persona repertoire these days.

“Harry?” came a familiar voice.

Harry's surprised start wasn’t acted. He had been too busy watching Draco's face up close to remember they had an audience.

Draco, meanwhile, took a casual step backwards before turning his smile at Neville, accompanied by Millicent, Madam Pomfrey and Professor Briarheart.

“Oh, hi, Neville,” Harry said. “Good evening, everyone.”

Neville looked between the two of them, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "Didn't expect to see you two here," he said, his tone friendly but curious.

"Just bringing this one home," Draco replied smoothly. "Needed some fresh air after a long day."

"Right," Neville said slowly, his eyes flicking to Harry for a moment before settling back on Draco. "Funny, that was our thought exactly.”

As he spoke, Madam Pomfrey casually held up a bottle of firewhiskey and winked. "And a little firewhiskey helps keep the chill away."

Professor Briarheart chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "It's quiet inside. Everyone is eager to go home tomorrow, so there isn't much for us to do."

"Of course," Harry said. "Glad to know you have it all figured out."

"Indeed," Pomfrey said with a chuckle. "You should join us. It's quite refreshing."

"Not tonight," Harry said, oddly eager to move past this awkward encounter. "We have to get back.”

Pomfrey, who had seen seventy come and gone, winked cheekily at them. “Don't let us keep you, boys. We can see you’re busy.”

Neville blushed, Harry was sure he could see it even in the dim light. Millicent meanwhile looked at them with a tilt to her head and no expression to give away her inner thoughts.

She nodded. “Goodnight, Harry. Draco, good to see you."

"Goodnight," they echoed, almost in unison.

As they walked away, Harry couldn't help but feel the awkwardness linger in the air. He glanced at Draco, who gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Well, that was... interesting," Harry muttered.

"Could have been worse," Draco replied with a shrug. "At least they didn't ask too many questions."

"Yeah, true. I think the surprise was a bit too much for Neville." He wondered how it would be, the next time he ran across him.

"Not for Pomfrey,” Draco said, a smirk on his lips. “She would have gladly stayed to watch, I think.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You're impossible, you know that? That’s not a visual I needed!"

Draco's smirk widened. "And yet, here you are, stuck with me."

"Funny how that worked out," Harry said, feeling the tension ease as they walked towards the front door, a normal distance between them, now that no one was around to watch.

Chapter Text

By ten the next morning, Harry was exhausted. He'd been assigned to organise the kids getting onto the train at Hogsmeade Station safely. He wondered if it had been a choice by the Headmistress to punish him. And he had, unfortunately, woken up several times during the night due to a huge headache hammering away behind his eyes.

They’d woken to snow covering every surface, so bright it hurt the eyes. Harry's breath was visible in the crisp air as he oversaw the departure of students heading home for the holidays.

He tightened his scarf, still a dark green, to keep the frosty air out. He was wrapped in his warmest cloak, but it felt colder than with Draco's warming charm.

Harry's eyes scanned the bustling crowd of students. Gabby had taken one look at the stampede and headed in the direction of Millicent’s hut, letting him deal with it on his own.

The Hogwarts Express stood ready, steam billowing around its scarlet engine, creating a lively atmosphere despite the chill.

An owl swooped down, having missed breakfast, but determined to deliver. Harry squinted and realised just how smudged his glasses were. Was that a rolled up newspaper in its talons? Not a single Prophet had been delivered this morning, a circumstance that occurred very rarely when the issue was late to print.

His attention was diverted by a group of first-year Gryffindors struggling with an oversized trunk. Harry strode over, his smile reassuring. "Need a hand, lads?" With a flick of his wand, the trunk floated effortlessly onto the train. "There you go. Have a great holiday!"

"Thanks, Professor Potter!" the students chorused, their faces bright with excitement for the upcoming holiday.

"Alright, everyone! Make sure you have all your belongings!" Harry called out, his voice carrying over the din. "Double-check your trunks and for the love of Merlin, remember to take your pets!"

“Professor Potter!” came a shrill little voice.

Further down the platform, he spotted a group of second-year Hufflepuffs, one of whom was frantically searching through her bag while flagging him down. "What's wrong, Emily?" he asked, crouching down to her level.

"I can't find my wand, Professor," Emily said, tears brimming in her eyes. “What if I lost it?”

Harry gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Emily. I'm sure it's here somewhere." He carefully Accioed the wand, which rattled in the trunk behind her, instead of the bag she had upturned onto the platform. He popped open the trunk and handed her the wand. "See? Right where you left it."

Emily beamed up at him. "Oh, thank Merlin! And you, of course.”

"Anytime," Harry smiled at her. “Now see to it to repack your bag, you need to board.”

As he continued to walk along the platform, a whispered hush seemed to roll through the crowd ahead, a cluster of sixth and seventh years huddled together.

On his way to break up whatever had their attention, he noticed a pair of Ravenclaw fourth-years, twins, arguing over a misplaced book. After a few moments of listening to their recollections, Harry found the book in the wrong twin’s trunk. "There we go. Next time, double-check before accusing each other, alright?"

The twins nodded, though he was pretty sure his words fell onto flat ears. "Yes, Professor,” they shouted while already loading everything onto the train, nearly pushing each other onto the tracks.

“Is it true, Professor?” Edna Larch, a sixth year Ravenclaw, asked, breaking away from the large vine of students that had formed ahead. As if apparating, her two friends Sienna and Antonia appeared by her side.

All three girls looked highly distraught.

“Is what true?” Harry asked, one of the youngest students managing to whack his calf with the edge of a trunk. Harry swore, but only in his head. Outwardly, he tried to remain calm and helpful.

There was some rustling and then the Prophet was shoved under his nose, so close he could see exactly nothing.

Harry took a step back, pointedly taking the paper from her. It was today's edition and the front page was dominated by a large, atmospheric photograph. It was a candid shot of him and Draco from the night before.

In it, Harry was sitting on the balustrade, his back to the camera, with the posh, well-groomed garden spread out before him. The photo only showed his back, but his hair was rather unmistakable.

Draco was standing between his knees, his expression on full display, focused and concerned as he checked on Harry, his hands running up Harry's chest. Harry knew that was the warming charm, but in the picture it looked far more intimate.

The headline blared: "POTTER AND MALFOY: A HOLIDAY ROMANCE?" Harry scanned the text below. A sensationalised article, which speculated wildly about their relationship, complete with quotes from unnamed "sources" and dramatic embellishments.

Harry felt a flush rise to his cheeks, and he wasn't sure if it was anger or embarrassment. He looked up at the girls, who were all watching him with a mixture of curiosity and heartbreak.

"Is it true, Professor?" Edna repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you really dating Draco Malfoy?"

Harry sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. He knew this would be a difficult topic to address, especially with the students who admired him so much.

Okay, that was maybe putting it mildly; he knew about their little fan club, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Thankfully, that sort of thing had fizzled out with the younger generations, but he had started working at Hogwarts when he was twenty, and especially the older students took that as their cue to idolise him. Harry hated that word.

And of course he'd known this was coming when he agreed to this whole thing. He just hadn't imagined it quite like this, with most of the upper classes staring at him, while the rest were causing chaos in his wake.

"Look," he began, choosing his words carefully, "Draco and I have been friendly for years now, and we've been spending some more time together. But what you read in the papers is often exaggerated or taken out of context. I want you to focus on your studies and enjoy your holidays, not get caught up in rumours."

"But the picture..." Sienna protested, her voice trailing off.

"Pictures can be misleading," Harry said gently. Then his mind caught up to what he'd just said – he wasn't supposed to talk them out of the idea. “And even if not, you really shouldn't pay attention to gossip pages. That's no way to live your life.”

Tears welled in Edna's eyes. Oh, dear Merlin, he was making a student cry. Great.

“I have to go," Edna said, a quiver in her tone. “Happy Holidays.” Her voice broke on the last word and she whirled around, running towards the train. Antonia followed her immediately, while Sienna gave him a sharp look, like he'd just broken her friend's heart on purpose.

“That's where idolisation gets you,” Harry muttered, quietly enough that they wouldn't hear.

He took a deep breath and continued along the platform, making sure everyone boarded on time.

As the final whistle blew, signalling the train's imminent departure, Harry reached the far end, where Ava stood, dressed in an oversized Wimbourne Wasps shirt under a puffy coat, standing alone by the edge of the platform, looking a bit lost.

"Everything alright?"

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Just saying goodbye to Hogwarts, Professor. It's a bit... bittersweet."

Harry nodded, understanding her sentiment. "It's never easy, but you'll be back for your N.E.W.T.s before you know it. And there's a whole world waiting for you out there afterwards."

She nodded, averting her eyes. “I'm sorry about them,” she said, nodding to where the cluster of students was slowly dispersing. “Edna and her friends, I mean. I'm the reason for it all, and it – it just doesn't feel very good, does it?”

Harry smiled at her gently. “You're not responsible for this. Draco and I, we're both adults. We thought about this a great deal. And, frankly, we're both used to this kind of media attention.”

“It's never pretty, no matter what others might tell you. But maybe there's a lesson in it for you; decide up front what parts you want to show the world, what parts are just for you. And generally, don't buy into the hype, because you'll learn, it's never really about you. Just a version of you that people think is the whole thing.”

She nodded, though Harry knew there was a big difference between intellectually understanding something and having experienced it oneself. He hoped she would remember his words once she rose to fame, though. It came with the territory, of course, but on the grand scale, he didn't wish it on anyone.

"Thanks, Professor,” she said solemnly. A little smile appeared. “And Happy Holidays. Send my best wishes to Mr. Malfoy.”

"Happy Holidays, Inkwell," Harry replied, watching as she jogged up to where William was waiting for her, both boarding the train moments later.

Harry watched the train pull away, a familiar itch of restlessness stirring in him. But instead of the usual tug to find something exciting to fill the evening, his mind drifted to Draco – off on his holiday somewhere much warmer than here. Harry envied him for that, but he was also looking forward to his return after Christmas. A subtle thrill ran through him, a different kind of anticipation that felt oddly grounding.

Harry sighed. For some odd reason, his emotions were all over the place. He headed back to the castle, the snow crunching under his shoes.

###

That evening, Harry sat on his sofa by the fire, a cup of tea cooling on the small table beside him. The fire crackled softly, filling the quiet room with its cosy warmth.

Gabby purred softly, her warm, smooth fur beneath his fingers as he absently stroked her. She was curled up comfortably, her small body pressed against him as he flipped through one of Dumbledore’s old journals, years ahead of where he was actively reading.

He turned a page, his eyes catching something that made him pause. His own name, written in Dumbledore’s familiar script, stood out in the middle of a paragraph. Harry blinked, adjusting his glasses as he leaned closer to read.

"Harry Potter, while gifted with a remarkable natural talent, harbours within him a vast reservoir of power. It is a power rarely seen, one that has manifested in only a few throughout Hogwarts’ long history, myself included. It is fortunate indeed that his bond with the school, as both his sanctuary and magical anchor, was quickly established, providing a much-needed stabilising force for his abilities. This connection mirrors that of other great wizards, whose names now stand as both legends and warnings: Grindelwald, Voldemort… and myself. And yet, it is with this very knowledge that I confess my deepest concern for the boy's future. Power, untempered, can lead even the brightest souls astray.”

Harry frowned. Why did everyone think he would make such an excellent Dark Wizard? Even in his worst hours, he never had an inclination towards it, had never shown an interest.

Aside from that though, and it was a pretty massive that, Dumbledore always had a way of phrasing things that made the most abstract ideas feel profound. And yet, here was something simple – something Harry had always felt but never quite articulated. Hogwarts wasn’t just his school, or even his home. It was part of him, as much as he was part of it. He read on.

"As has been my hypothesis for years now, one's home helps stabilise any surplus – or indeed lack – of magic. Wizards of a certain magical magnitude require a home large enough to accommodate. Such a home is Hogwarts. The castle itself offers a grounding influence on one's magic, tempering the raw potential and allowing for greater control than one might otherwise possess. It is likely that without this connection, the magnitude of Harry's power could become overwhelming."

Harry sighed softly. Another thing he hadn't been told, that would have greatly helped him navigate through life's more choppy waters.

He glanced down at Gabby, who was still blissfully unaware of the significance of what he was reading. She shifted slightly, her tail twitching as if in response to his inner turmoil.

He had always felt that Hogwarts was special, but Dumbledore’s words made it feel more concrete, more real. It wasn’t just that the castle was a safe place – it was his true home, something he'd never quite thought about. It made sense, in a way, why he had always felt so connected here, why leaving had always seemed so much harder than staying.

Harry leaned back, letting the journal rest on his lap as he stared into the fire. For so long, he had struggled with the weight of his magic, the constant pressure of it. But knowing that Hogwarts was helping him, that it had been helping him all along, made him feel lighter.

Gabby purred louder, snuggling closer, and Harry smiled, letting his hand rest on her back to feel her vibrating purrs.

Chapter Text

Harry usually spent his Christmas at the Burrow. This year, with half her children busy around the world, Molly had convinced him to come stay during the week leading up to it, as well as staying for the twelve days of Christmas.

She'd hugged him upon arrival, squeezing him tight while reminding him she didn't listen to what the media printed and there was no need to worry.

Harry didn't correct her, deciding he'd leave that conversation for last.

The mornings consisted of him cooking breakfast so Molly could sleep in, while Arthur, still happily working his low ranking job at the Ministry, watched him prepare and wash everything by hand with glee. Their chatter remained light-hearted and friendly, then ate their scrambled eggs in contented silence.

The first morning Arthur had thanked Harry with a gruff pat on the shoulder before hurriedly pulling on his coat and explaining, “Christmas is always my department's busiest time. So many presents, you see. Enchanted Muggle objects are rising in popularity, too!”

By the time Arthur left, Charlie usually made his way to the kitchen and downed his first coffee. Harry enjoyed discussing the most reliable new salves for use on dragon burns or the newest studies found on hand-rearing versus in a clutch when it came to dragon socialisation.

Charlie ate like a man who knew physical work lay ahead and who wasn't guaranteed to always make it back in time for lunch. It was decidedly charming to have his mediocre cooking so well-appreciated.

They chatted easily until Percy returned from his morning jog, sticking his head in for a quick greeting before heading up to take a shower. He'd taken on a rigorous exercise routine and questioned Harry on every ingredient used in his food before consuming it. Inevitably the reminder came, for the seventeenth time or so, that Percy needed to be more healthy, and had he already told Harry about the health scare he’d experienced last year? Sometimes Harry managed to veer the conversation to the most recent changes to the Ministry's legislations, but it really wasn't a given these days.

For Christmas Eve Molly had really outdone herself, the cooking fantastic and the Burrow full with most of her kids and grandkids. Ginny was off in France with her boyfriend, already preparing for the upcoming quidditch season. Ron and Hermione had taken their long overdue honeymoon and George had promised to come by tomorrow, unable to close his shop on one of the busiest days of the year.

The afternoon of Christmas day, Harry had snuck away to flip through the endless headlines that had been printed in the meantime, each one more sensational than the last. “Draco Malfoy: Harry Potter's Secret Lover?” blared one, while another proclaimed, "Harry Potter's Eccentric Behavior: Is the Hero Unravelling?"

He had found the stack of newspapers in the shed, hidden from view and hastily secreted behind the rickety wheelbarrow; clearly Molly's doing.

But Harry, who hadn't seen a paper in nearly two weeks, greedily scanned every article.

The deniers somehow got their hands on the story behind the photo of them on the terrace. The argument brought forth included Draco simply being helpful because it was “the right thing to do”, which got a chuckle out of Harry at least.

At first the sceptics tried to argue it was most likely not Harry in the picture. When, two days later, another picture was leaked, clearly showing Harry's profile, their argument shifted. Now it was clearly a coincidence Draco was there, and if anything, The Boy Who Lived would at best be friends with Draco, who, as was well known these days, had never supported the Dark Side willingly.

To Harry's utter surprise, a significant number of people spoke in support of their union. Who were enamoured with the way Draco looked at him. Who were dismayed that the picture hadn't shown more. Who thought Harry looked happy.

While their relationship seemed to be the topic du jour, Harry was interested to note that Price hadn't published a single article slandering Draco.

No, his headlines were subtle digs at Harry's mental state. He was just reading one where Price was explaining the cornerstones of megalomania with several examples of Harry's recent actions.

Harry nearly dropped the newspaper when a loud crash ripped through the air, followed by a gruff curse. Harry returned the newspaper to the stack and stood slowly. He was holding his wand. He couldn't even remember drawing it.

“Oh, honestly!” came an exasperated and very familiar female voice.

“How is this my fault?” came Ron’s equally annoyed tone. “This bloody reindeer came out of nowhere. And what's with all the gnomes, anyway? I thought mum said she wouldn't use them as decorations anymore? The freezing charms always wear off and then there's another infestation to deal with.”

“Yes, well,” Hermione said primly. “The things your mother says and the things she does are not always identical, are they?”

“‘Mione,” Ron warned. “You promised to be nice. Especially considering I’m keeping your pregnancy from my mother. You know as well as I do that she'll skin me alive for that.’

Harry felt an odd weight settle on his chest. Probably the realisation that he would now be relegated to third wheel status permanently. He couldn't quite believe it, Hermione was pregnant? And they hadn't told him?

Hermione grumbled something Harry couldn't make out as their footsteps passed around the shed, heading towards the kitchen door of the Burrow.

“You made it!” Harry said loudly and with forced cheer as he stepped out on the frozen ground. Behind him the shed door swung closed with finality. He tried not to see it as a metaphor for his life and tried to smile instead. It didn't quite work. “I thought you said you wouldn't be back in time.”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione whipped around, shivering but with a relieved smile on her face. She swung her arms around him, hugging him closer. He noticed she made sure not to let their fronts touch.

“What's with the flowy shirt?” He tugged the back of the oversized blouse, the thin material giving way easily. “Has no one told you it's winter? It's freezing out.”

Maybe they wanted to tell him in person. Well, he'd just given them the perfect opening.

She pulled back, grabbing his cheeks in both hands and bestowing two flamboyant air kisses on either side of his face. “Not in Marbella, it's not.”

She stepped back half a step, just enough for Ron to wedge in sideways. Another hug, this one with decidedly more back-slapping, and Harry took a step back to examine his two best friends.

“You look good,” he decided. “Even Ron has a tan. And Hermione, your hair – ”

She blushed, smoothing down the long, thick braid. “All the locals wear it casual like this. Makes it easier to handle, less frizz, too.”

Harry grinned. “It suits you.”

She beamed at him. Ron was already smiling widely. And then, as if on simultaneous strings, their expressions fell, smashing on the ground like so much fallen ice.

Harry tried not to sigh. He'd hoped this wasn't their reason for returning, but apparently, he was shit out of luck and bang on the money at the same time.

He knew his friends. Knew what it meant when Hermione stood there, shivering in the wrong clothes and wringing her hands. And Ron, with a resolute expression covering his discomfort, clearly there to ‘be a good friend’.

It had been like this when he broke up with Ginny, Ron had simply been a bit more angry then. It had been the same the first time he'd decided to date a man, only Hermione had looked slightly more uncomfortable at the time. That had been the one and only time Harry had let others talk him out of a relationship, and he was still paying the price for it today.

He took a deep breath.

“I came here to not talk about it, you do get that?”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione started forward, but quickly stopped herself. “We're just here to help.”

Ron looked worried, but nodded quickly. “You can tell us what's up. Did that ferret manage to get out of the Unbreakable Vow? Is it his doing? Is he the one writing this?”

Harry looked from Ron's sympathetic expression to Hermione, who looked about ready to start a fight, but shivered again. Instead of answering he sighed. “Come on. Let's get you inside.”

They did and thankfully Ron and Hermione’s unexpected visit gave Harry some time to collect himself as Percy and Charlie greeted the newcomers. Harry hoped Molly might appear before his friends could untangle themselves from the conversation, but no such luck.

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione said and practically ushered him upstairs to Ron's old bedroom.

Upon entering, she immediately started pulling tiny bags out of her pockets and enlarging them.

“You tell us what this is about while I unpack,” she said, nodding at him to go on while swooshing her wand this way and that.

Ron sat at his desk, leaving Harry no choice but to perch on the bed. He regretted not having made it this morning. In fact, most of his things lay strewn around the small room.

Hermione, not content to simply unpack her own things, also took it upon herself to clean up Harry's mess, floating his clothes into his bag, which Ron had helpfully collected from the corner of the room.

With a start, Harry realised, they expected him to vacate the room. It made sense of course, he always bunked with whichever Weasley brother hadn't brought a significant other. Unless, of course, Ron and Hermione had decided they wouldn't come this Christmas.

He knew since Hermione and Ron had married, he was the outsider at all Weasley get togethers, because he wasn't tangibly part of the family. Molly and Arthur loved him, there was no doubt about it. But there was a difference. And that difference was made abundantly clear when Ron, smiling, handed him his packed bag.

It wasn't anger that bubbled in his chest, he knew that. But something similar, something laced with acid and just as corrosive. It made him defensive and he didn't even care.

“Not much to tell,” he said in a tight voice, dropping his bag unceremoniously on the floor. Hermione gave Ron a knowing look. Harry tried not to grit his teeth.

“Harry,” she said in a carefully soft voice. “The papers are saying you're dating Malfoy. But you're not, are you?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

Ron shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because he's a git. This is probably a ploy you two cooked up. Or a complete fabrication.”

Ron had disliked each and every one of Harry's partners post-Ginny, like they weren't as good as his sister. In Ron’s mind, Harry clearly just wanted to play the field until going back to her. Because that's how it ought to be. Neat and tidy and socially acceptable.

Harry leaned back on the bed, shoulders resting against the wall. “He asked me out and I accepted. No ploy, nothing to fabricate,” he lied easily. Fuck social acceptability.

It was almost funny, because they kept telling him he was pushing people away, insinuating he had issues with intimacy because of his past. If he told them the truth about his new ‘relationship’, they'd probably feel validated in that belief.

Both their faces took on a pinched look. “But why Malfoy?” Hermione asked. To everyone's surprise, she had taken it the worst when Harry had also started seeing guys.

Harry's shoulder scratched against the wall as he shrugged. He couldn't be arsed to sit up straight. “He's incredibly fit and surprisingly fun.” He gave that mental image a second to sink in before continuing, “and why does it matter anyway?”

Ron didn't answer directly, but he did ask, “Does Ginny know yet?”

“Why would I tell her?” Harry asked and he could hear the irritation in his own tone now. “And why would she care, she's happy with Roman.”

Ron pressed his lips together, a flush rising from his neck. He didn't say anything though and Harry counted it as a win.

“You've not mentioned Malfoy in years,” Hermione interjected, trying to get the conversation back on track.

Harry stared at her. “And?”

She fiddled with her wand. “I thought you were over –”

She cut off at a sound from Ron.

Harry sat up. “Over what, exactly?”

Hermione took a deep breath, shooting Ron an apologetic glance before focusing on Harry. “Your little obsession with him.”

Harry nearly blurted out his objection. But then, what would be the point of that?

Harry breathed in deeply. “Maybe I'm not. Maybe that's why I said yes. I still don't understand why we're discussing this? You never want to discuss my partners.” He gave a humourless chuckle. “Unless they're female, of course.”

Hermione flushed. They hadn't talked about her little hangup openly yet and Harry belatedly wondered if he should have just kept his mouth shut. But whatever he'd been feeling earlier, it certainly had morphed into real anger now. His magic was going haywire, boiling under his skin with no outlet in sight.

He was sick and tired of living under a glass jar, of being judged by his best friends because he hadn't had the great fortune of meeting the love of his life back at school. He was especially sick and tired of how they made him feel like he was somehow deficient for not having caught up to their picture-perfect romance.

And when he had thought he'd found that one special person, they'd managed to talk him out of it. It was a sore subject to this day, mostly because Harry blamed himself for the spineless reaction he'd given. That was the last time he'd let someone else influence major decisions in his life. It had been too late for that relationship, though, had destroyed too much trust.

And suddenly it all became too much, threatening to boil over and spill out of him, never to be returned to the way it was before. He jumped up, his bag flying into his outstretched palm. He grasped it tightly, trying to ignore the fact that it had been too much magic for a simple Accio; it filled the room, spilling over into the next.

“I'm done talking about this – this intervention. If you have any genuine questions feel free to ask, but I'm not sitting here and waiting for you to come up with some.”

He hoisted the bag over his shoulder and turned in the door frame. Hermione's wide eyes stared at him, while Ron's pinched look faced the floor.

“I haven't been with anyone in over eighteen months. You could have just been excited for me.”

“Harry…” Something in Hermione's voice grated his nerves. His magic pinged, but he pushed it down and ignored her pleading look.

“I'm just going to set up in Charlie's room then, shall I?” He felt like an arsehole, but the words left his mouth without an intervention of his brain. “Since you two will be taking over my room?”

He stomped out, angry at Ron and Hermione, angry at himself for saying things he hadn't wanted to say. Angry that this had dragged up memories alongside the realisation he hadn't forgiven anyone for making himself break up with his first boyfriend, least of all himself. Most of his anger, though, was directed at the fact that he felt out of control and utterly helpless about it.

The stairs made a wonderful place to stomp some more as he headed down all the way to the second floor.

He heard the concerned voices when he was just about to head into his new bedroom.

“I don't know!” Charlie said, his deep voice gruff but clearly agitated. When Charlie grew agitated, the situation was already extreme. He possessed one of the most laid back attitudes Harry had ever encountered, seemingly a by-product of working with creatures that would be negatively influenced by erratic energy and could take your face off with a cough.

“Well I'm certainly not causing it! Quick! One got in the pantry!”

A loud crash followed, along with two bellowed summoning charms.

Harry took the stairs two at a time. Several more crashes and loud thuds came from the living room before he even reached the ground floor.

What met him was a scene of carnage. Tinsel lay absolutely everywhere, on the floor, the windowsills and Harry could even make out some of it glittering from the light fixtures. Two of the four window curtains lay pooled on the floor, the railing ripped from one side and hanging despondently across the window.

Every knick-knack that had been lovingly displayed on the mantle, on end tables and any other flat surface lay strewn across the floor, broken glass from picture frames besides ripped pieces of drawings from Molly's precious grandchildren.

The beautiful Christmas tree, which had almost touched the ceiling, lay across the sitting room floor, the top third bent at an angle that spelled irreparable. Some needles lay scattered around it, accentuating the gleaming multicoloured shards of broken tree ornaments.

The pitter-patter of tiny feet played as a backdrop to the chaos, though their owners stayed out of sight. A quick glance out the window confirmed Harry's suspicion; the foot long red-painted sledge no longer had a little Santa holding the wooden reindeer. The nativity scene Molly had lovingly decorated beside the pathway was missing all its participants.

A gnome ran across the room, holding the star from the top of the tree, cackling wildly. Harry sent a quick tendril of magic towards it, re-freezing it mid step. Then he pulled out his wand and sent his Patronus up the stairs. They'd need backup for this.

With the help of Ron and Hermione, Harry, Percy and Charlie managed to catch hopefully all the little critters and restore them to their previous places. Since unfreezing and having moved about, the gnomes no longer held the previous, carefully selected or patiently frozen and refrozen positions.

Sleigh-Santa now had his arms in the air, as it had been in the process of running off with a tin of Christmas cookies held above its head. One of the three wise men had both arms pinned to its side, making it impossible to get the little robe on it properly. Several of them were holding random objects now, to disguise the rude gestures they were making.

“How is it possible they all unfroze together?” Percy asked, trying his best to clean the flour out of his gym trousers.

“Mum will be furious,” Charlie said. “It took her days to get them all to look right.”

Harry, who had a rather uncomfortable feeling his leaking magic was the cause for all this said, “She should be getting proper ornaments, anyway.”

The Weasleys and one Granger-Weasley stared at him.

Uncomfortable under the scrutiny he shrugged. “I'm just saying what everyone's thinking.” And as though his mouth ran disconnected to his brain he added, “it's not like they're exceedingly charming.”

Hermione pursed her lips, like she'd like to physically take back what he'd just said. Ron turned an angry red and the other two Weasleys scowled at him.

“That has been the kids’ Christmas decorations since Bill was born,” Molly said from behind him.

Harry turned. She stood on the stairs, curlers in her hair and her dressing gown tied loosely around her middle, Christmas themed pyjamas peeking out from underneath.

“Oh,” he said, and even though it didn't sound nice, he was thankful for it. Because what he really wanted to say was far more rude and considerably more mean. What in Merlin's beard was wrong with him?

Molly cleared her throat, striding past him without another glance. “What happened?” she asked in her best no-nonsense mum voice.

“The freezing charm broke,” Charlie said.

“How many?” Molly asked.

Charlie grimaced. “All of them.”

Molly's eyebrows shot up. “All? At the same time?”

Percy and Charlie nodded as one.

“Harry, I think you should apologise to Molly,” Hermione said. She had walked up beside him, but it still had been loud enough for everyone to hear.

Something snapped inside of him. It was bad enough he was the cause of this. Not only did it mean he would probably never be able to control his magic, but it also meant he would be bound to Hogwarts’ levelling effects for the rest of his days. It was a stifling thought, one that wrapped around his throat and squeezed tight, making it hard to breathe.

And then for Hermione, the one who, like him, was not part of the family he so yearned for, to take it upon herself to reprimand him…

Magic poured out of him, his hair whipping in the torrent. The lights flickered, went out. Seconds later they turned on again.

And Harry was so frustrated with it all, he didn't even care.

When he spoke, it was eerily quiet. “Sure, Hermione. Right after you finally tell Molly you're pregnant.”

The silence that followed was like a physical thing. Ron had shrunk in on himself, while both his brother's mouths hung open in shock. Hermione looked ashen.

Molly seemed to surface from the shock-freeze first. “You're pregnant?”

The look on Hermione's face, directed just at him, shattered whatever anger he'd felt, immediately replaced with guilt.

He'd done it again. Had let his magic take control and as always, the outcome was disastrous.

Harry couldn't be here for this. Not with that look on Hermione’s face and with Ron’s red ears when his mother turned on him.

“I have to go,” Harry mumbled, aware he was taking the coward’s way out and not caring. He walked up to Charlie's room while downstairs erupted with everyone talking at once.

He grabbed his bag, shrank it to squeeze into the pocket of his jeans before heading back downstairs.

Dumbledore's journal had been right. At first, they'd read like the ramblings of an old man, bitter about the personal choices he'd made and using them as an excuse for pulling back, for living a life that – while very much in the public eye – was completely removed from the deepest connections.

By the looks of it, that would be his future, too.

Harry stomped through the garden, past the hastily arranged gnomes and past the Apparition point. He didn't even want to say goodbye, never mind giving some excuse for his sudden departure.

The fact that Dumbledore had described this very feeling just angered him more. Hell, the fact that anger was one of the symptoms pissed him off to no end.

Once he made it past the wards, he Apparated, hoping he wouldn't splinch himself considering the foul mood he was in.

He didn't, though, and when the castle grounds came into view, his outlook calmed almost immediately. Dumbledore's journal entry came to him again.

Returning to Hogwarts, my home, feels like shedding a heavy rucksack, like the comforting assurance of a parent's words that everything will be fine. It is impossible to cast a spell to analyse one's own magic, so until I find someone capable enough, I must rely on this subjective interpretation.

To Harry, that's exactly what it felt like when he re-entered the wards, like a weight had been lifted off his back. What followed was an uncomfortable feeling of shame regarding his behaviour at the Burrow. He owed Molly not only an explanation, but an apology, too.

Harry made his way across the Hogwarts grounds, the sky a perfect blue with not a cloud in sight. The snow lay thick across the ground and Harry stuck to the paths that had been shovelled free.

His first stop was Millicent’s who had taken over Hagrid’s when he'd moved to France. Millicent took care of Gabby when Harry was gone and he would most likely find her there. And Harry needed his cat's calming presence after the shitstorm he'd caused at the Burrow.

Millicent was outside, tending to a few creatures who needed extra care in the colder weather. She looked up as Harry approached, a warm smile spreading across her face.

"Welcome back, Harry," she greeted him, straightening up from where she had been coaxing a shy Kneazle out of its shelter.

"Thanks, Millicent," Harry replied, glancing around. "How's Gabby been?"

"Oh, she's been fine," Millicent assured him, wiping her hands on her robes. "She’s been restless without the students around, though. Kept a close eye on things, made a few rounds around the grounds at night. You know how she is."

"Yeah, she’s never quite at ease when she thinks someone might need protecting."

Millicent nodded, looking fondly at the magical cat who was currently perched on the windowsill of the hut, watching them with bright, alert eyes. "She’s a good one, that Gabby. I think she’s taken quite a liking to the Thestral with the colic, too. She’s been checking in on her more than usual."

"Sounds like she's been busy," Harry said, feeling a surge of gratitude for Millicent’s care. "Thanks for looking after her."

"Anytime," Millicent replied, smiling as Gabby hopped down from the sill and trotted over to rub against Harry's legs, as if she'd only noticed him now. "She’s always welcome here."

After a few more words of thanks and some updates on the creatures, Harry said his goodbyes and headed back to his quarters. Gabby followed him closely, her tail flicking in the cool air. As soon as they entered his room, Gabby immediately jumped onto his desk, for once devoid of too much paperwork.

“Come now, darling. You know you're not allowed up there.”

She chirped at him like a Cheetah, rubbing her cheek against the table lamp.

“Are you that mad at me for leaving? I thought you liked staying with Millicent.”

Gabby’s tail flicked, but she hopped down and made her way to the sofa. Harry joined her.

She climbed into his lap and for the next fifteen minutes, Harry felt himself calm down as she stopped demanding constant pets and curled up for sleep. Harry summoned the latest of Dumbledore's journals from his hastily discarded travelling bag. The spine was well-worn, the engravings on the cover nearly ruined with age and frequent handling.

He had taken it with him over the holiday, finding comfort in the familiar, looping handwriting and the everyday thoughts of the former Headmaster. Lately, he had been reading about a particularly uneventful year during Dumbledore’s early teaching days, where the most pressing concern seemed to be the persistent intrusion of a family of garden gnomes into the greenhouses. It was a side of Dumbledore that Harry had always found endearing – a reminder that even great wizards had their ordinary, mundane challenges.

He flipped to the bookmark and began to read. And Harry finally allowed himself to unwind. The castle was still and quiet and Harry found solace in the silence, knowing that in just a few days, Hogwarts would be bustling with life once more. Sitting here with a fire roaring, his cat in his lap and one of Dumbledore's journals in his hand, Harry felt a sense of peace settle over him. It was good to be home, if only to feel more like himself. He wouldn't contemplate the implications of that, not today. Today, he'd ignore what had happened, and just be glad to be back.

And tomorrow, he had an apology letter to write to Molly.

Chapter Text

Harry spent New Years at Hogwarts, deciding it wouldn't be a good idea to expose his friends to his volatile magic and equally volatile mood. Embarrassment had set in about his behaviour at the Burrow and so far, he hadn't spoken to Hermione and Ron, so it was probably for the best.

Each night and most days he read Dumbledore's journals, hoping for a throwaway comment or outright step-by-step description of how to fix whatever was wrong with him.

Gabby seemed utterly unbothered by his mood, using him as a pillow whenever he sat down for more than two minutes. Each morning Harry woke up with Gabby on his chest. He hugged her close like a security blanket.

It was all a bit sad, what his life had come to. It certainly wasn't what he'd expected after the war, when, for the first time, he'd started thinking about how his future might look.

He ignored Hermione's letter, even after heading to the Burrow and apologising to Molly in person, an experience he wouldn't like to repeat, even if Molly accepted it graciously.

It was an odd turn of events when the letter he was most excited to receive was one written by Draco Malfoy, who had finally returned from his holiday and immediately suggested another outing.

And so, at the start of January, Harry stood before the Potion Lounge, nerves fluttering as he prepared for their second ‘date’.

Since Draco was working late, Harry had taken the initiative to organise a table and wait for him there. The Potion Lounge was an enchanting sight; the building's façade resembled a giant cauldron, its entrance nestled between claw-footed legs. Wisps of smoke curled down from the cauldron’s brim, beckoning passersby with a misty glow.

The double doors swung open to reveal a grand staircase. Soft lights beneath the bannisters cast a warm glow on the plush, red-coloured carpet. Harry’s feet sank into the luxurious steps as he ascended.

The landing opened into a cosy reception area. A standing desk held a gently lit sign that read, “Please wait to be seated.”

He'd barely stood there for fifteen seconds before a smiling hostess appeared. “Good evening, sir, how – oh.” She faltered when she recognised him, her eyes drifting to the scar on his forehead. He had to give her credit though, she quickly composed herself. “How many seats for your party, Mr. Potter?”

This was why Harry hated public appearances – always off-balance and awkward. “Just two,” he murmured, trying to hide his nervousness. He dreaded seeing headlines suggesting he was under the Imperius Curse while on a date with Malfoy.

As he stepped inside, Harry couldn’t help but marvel at the tranquil setting, quite the opposite to the bustling streets outside.

Ambient lighting illuminated shelves lined with glowing potions, and the comfortable seating areas were perfect for intimate conversations. Half walls rose as dividers between each set of sofas, affording the sense of seclusion while still giving the patrons enough of a view of neighbouring tables to keep things interesting.

Harry settled at their table, back to the wall and with a good view of the room, fidgeting with the menu that listed various potions and their diluted effects. He glanced up every now and then, scanning the entrance for Draco. The entire situation was surreal, like living in a twisted fairy tale where public opinion swayed like the branches of the Whomping Willow, and he was dating none other than his once-nemesis.

The faint scent of exotic spices and various potions tickled his nose, blending with the rich aroma of polished wood and citrus cleaning charms.

Generic music played in the background, mingling with the indistinct murmur of conversations. For several minutes, Harry listened to the conversation three tables down, a story about the woman and her recent dates.

Finally, he saw Draco approaching. His pale hair gleamed under the soft lights, and his confident stride drew the attention of two witches in Harry's direct eyeline, the brunette unconsciously biting her lip at Malfoy’s sophisticated getup and the easy way he carried himself.

Harry frowned. Well, she had a point. He, too, couldn’t help but admire the way Draco sauntered over, with smart grey trousers a touch tighter than necessary, and a thin and form fitting, equally tight turtleneck, of all things.

He still wore his coat; a classic cut, a light grey with a discreet sheen, the kind that made Harry think of old money and family crests – a piece that looked like it belonged more in a portrait than a wardrobe.

Draco Malfoy might not do a lot of colours, but he certainly didn't choose black clothes by default. Harry, on the other hand, had done just that. At least they would make for an interesting juxtaposition, he supposed.

“Harry,” Draco greeted as he reached the table, his voice smooth and polite, yet carrying a hint of amusement. He bent down to place a soft kiss on Harry's cheek, squeezing his hand. “Sorry for being late, darling. Did you have to wait long?”

“Draco,” Harry replied, trying to keep his tone neutral. The two witches were openly staring at them, whispering behind raised hands. “Not at all.”

Draco peeled himself out of the coat, unselfconsciously handing it off to a waiting staff member and settled into the cushioned seat opposite Harry, casually glancing around. “It certainly has a charm of its own. I like it.”

“Of course you do. You fit in perfectly with the decor.”

That started a laugh out of Draco, who looked around, reassessing the upscale interior. “Calling me a light fixture, are you? Maybe a tablecloth?”

Harry shrugged but was unable to fully stifle his grin. “If the shoe fits…”

“I see.” Draco, playing along easily, nodded slowly and looked like he was committing a great atrocity perpetrated against his person to memory. Then he laughed and turned back to his old – or new – self again.

“There's fewer people out than expected, but that's probably due to the new regulation. It has people scared,” Harry said. He was referring to the decree the Ministry had released just yesterday, not merely warning the people away from the blackouts but telling them to stay away by law.

“It's a horrible affair,” Draco said. “I've interviewed several people who were at the centre of the blackout in Diagon Alley. They still have trouble using their magic, and I honestly suspect some never might be able to again. Though that's obviously not something the Ministry divulges.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “That really would cause a panic, wouldn't it.”

Draco nodded, then waved him off, done with the subject. He leaned over to slide his fingers over the back of Harry's hand. “So, darling, how was your Christmas at the Burrow?”

Harry sighed, leaning back slightly. “It was... eventful. Left a bit early, actually. Spent New Year’s at Hogwarts, just catching up on some work.”

“Ah, yes. Holidays at the Burrow can be quite... intense, I imagine,” Draco commented.

“I had a bit of an issue with my magic going out of control,” Harry heard himself say. He certainly hasn't planned to talk about this with Malfoy, but it felt like a dam breaking. “I said some things I shouldn't have.”

Draco looked at him attentively. And without judgement. Which made sense, since Draco had seen far worse sides of Harry.

“I read about it in Dumbledore's journals. He struggled with the same thing and he seemed to believe that one’s home would help level fluctuating magic. He seemed to believe that not having an outlet for magic could also influence one's mood. And honestly, from recent experiences, I'd have to agree.”

Draco hooked the tips of two fingers with Harry's, nodding slowly. “I've heard of it before.”

Harry was taken aback. “You have?”

“Here are the menus,” a chipper witch interrupted, handing them each a fancy little book with gold lettering on the front. “Anything I can't get you for now?”

Draco let go of Harry's hand to hold up two fingers. “Give us two minutes, love?”

She nodded, her cheeks pink, and walked off.

It had been neither a very long, nor unexpected interruption, but it was enough for Harry to realise he'd been spilling his guts to Draco, who hadn't really asked for such a downer of a conversation. Plus, they were supposed to be on a romantic date, weren't they? Harry's glum mood probably shouldn't interfere.

“But enough of me,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face. “How has your holiday been?”

Draco leaned back, beaming, like all he wanted all night was Harry's full attention on him. “I had a rather lovely time in Greece with Mother. The weather was perfect, and the food was exceptional.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at Draco’s relaxed holiday. “Sounds wonderful. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper holiday like that.”

Draco’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Perhaps it’s time you treated yourself, Potter. Life shouldn’t be all work and no play, even for a dedicated professor such as yourself.”

“Easier said than done,” Harry muttered, glancing down at the menu again. “So, what do you recommend we try first?”

Draco’s eyes scanned the options. “Let’s start with something mild. How about the Elixir of Euphoria? It says here it's so far diluted, the effects will be pleasant and short-lived. Perfect for easing into the evening.”

Harry nodded, and Draco gestured for the waitress. As she approached, Harry took a moment to observe Draco in profile. The soft lighting accentuated the fine lines of his features – the sharpness of his jaw, the gentle curve of his slightly too-long nose, and the way his platinum hair fell just so over his forehead.

Despite the time of year, Draco’s stay in Greece had left him with a subtle tan, making him stand out in the dreary, snowy backdrop of England. Harry had to make himself look away.

“Two Elixirs of Euphoria, please,” Draco said to the waitress, his tone polite and warm. “Thank you, love.”

The waitress blushed slightly at his follow-up wink. “Of course, sir. They’ll be right out. Is there anything else I can get you?”

Harry tuned out Draco's questions regarding some points on the menu. Instead his eyes were drawn to the bar, where a couple was arguing in hushed tones, both men’s faces red with frustration over a spilled drink and wet trousers. Regardless of their predicament, they seemed comfortable in one another’s presence, probably knowing each other for years.

Two tables down, a group of witches clinked their glasses, toasting to some private victory, their laughter and joyful magic tinkling in Harry's ears like seaside wind chimes.

A waiter by the window fumbled with a tray, causing a cascade of sparkling liquid to catch the light in a brief, dazzling display before vanishing with a wave of his wand.

Draco turned back to Harry when their waitress sashayed away. He seemed utterly oblivious to the effect he had on her.

What he did pick up on though, was Harry's scrutiny, though he didn’t interpret it correctly. “I must say, it’s quite a change to be the only one with a bit of a holiday tan this time of the year,” he remarked with a wry smile. “Though I suppose I’ll blend back in soon enough.”

Harry chuckled, his eyes roving over Draco's face. “You do stand out a bit, but it suits you. Greece must have been amazing.”

“It was,” Draco replied, his eyes lighting up. “The weather, the food, the history... It’s all quite breathtaking. Mother and I had a wonderful time.”

“How is your mother?” Harry asked. He couldn't say he particularly cared, but it was the right thing, judging by how Draco's eyes brightened immediately.

“She is doing very well, thank you. I will tell her you inquired.”

Harry managed to bite back his first response. Instead he gave his head an odd shake, which he supposed could be interpreted as a nod.

Their conversation paused as the waitress returned with two shimmering, golden potions. She placed them on the table, her gaze snagging for a moment on Harry's right wrist, where his jumper had slid up, showcasing the golden imprints. He didn't hide them.

“Enjoy,” she said before walking away.

Draco raised his glass. “To new experiences.”

Harry clinked his glass against Draco’s. “To new experiences,” he agreed and tried to ignore the excited flutter in his chest. He certainly liked new experiences: this one, for example.

They each took a sip. The potion was light and sweet, with a hint of citrus. Almost immediately, Harry felt a gentle wave of euphoria wash over him. It was as if a warm, golden light had settled in his chest, easing his nerves and lifting his spirits. He glanced at Draco, who seemed equally relaxed, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips.

“So, tell me more about your holiday,” Harry said, leaning in slightly. “What did you get up to in Greece?”

Draco’s eyes sparkled in obvious delight as he recounted their adventures. “We visited several ancient ruins, which were fascinating in their own right. And we spent a lot of time by the sea, just relaxing and enjoying the scenery. Mother was especially keen on visiting the local markets. She has quite an eye for finding unique treasures.”

Harry found himself hanging on every word, the potion amplifying his fascination and interest. “Sounds incredible. It must have been so refreshing.”

“It was,” Draco agreed. “You really should try to get away sometime, Potter. It does wonders for the soul.”

Harry nodded, but even the potion’s effect couldn't mask the pang he felt. Considering the disaster at the Burrow, he wasn't sure when, if ever, he would be able to stay away for that long again.

Draco scanned the menu thoughtfully, his finger tapping lightly against the options. “What do you think, Potter? Fancy trying the Draught of Peace?”

Harry nodded, feeling a sense of calm already beginning to settle from the euphoria potion. “Sounds perfect.”

Draco signalled the waitress again, not that it took much for him to get her attention. “Two Draughts of Peace, please,” he requested. “And perhaps a small platter of those lovely hors d’oeuvres you recommended earlier?”

The waitress nodded eagerly. “Of course, sir. Right away.”

Just as she was out of earshot, a tall, dark haired wizard approached their table, eyes wide with excitement. “Excuse me, you're Harry Potter, yeah? Professor Potter? My nephew is your student, Thomas Brixley. I’m Sam Brixley, I’m a huge fan. Could I possibly get a photo with you?”

Harry felt Draco's eyes boring into him. This didn't feel like the person he was getting to know, this felt like the detailed assessment of a professional, who regularly wrote about famous people in his columns.

“Oh, um, sure,” he agreed, flustered more by Draco's scrutiny than the stranger's attention.

Draco tapped his ring against the tabletop as he watched the proceedings, a faint metallic sound, and Harry wondered if it was a habit or just something he did to occupy those restless fingers of his.

The wizard pulled out a small, enchanted camera that emitted a soft, magical glow. Harry stood up, awkwardly positioning himself next to the man while the camera floated in the air, preparing to capture the moment.

“Smile!” the camera chirped, and Harry managed to comply in a polite, if somewhat strained, manner. The flash of light captured the moment, and the camera hovered back to the wizard.

He gestured to the pair of them. “I read about you two. And I just wanted to say, you make a smashing pair in my eyes,” Brixley said before scurrying off, leaving Harry to return to his seat, still oddly flustered.

“Enjoying the perks of fame, are we?” Draco teased, his smirk widening.

Harry rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s always a bit awkward. Never quite get used to it.”

Draco chuckled. “I can imagine. But you handle it well enough. Plus, he made sure to have me in the background. I'd be surprised if that picture won't surface in a newspaper soon.”

“That's good, then,” Harry said but didn't quite manage to convince himself.

Before Harry could respond, the waitress returned with their potions and a small platter of hors d’oeuvres. She placed the shimmering Draughts of Peace in front of them, the liquid a calming shade of blue.

There was no toast this time, only Malfoy's calculating eyes over the rim of his glass.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Draco murmured. “Shut up and drink your potion.”

Harry rolled his eyes but complied. The potion’s effect was almost immediate. A soothing wave of calm washed over Harry, easing away the remnants of his earlier nerves, as well as the unsettling feeling left behind by Draco's intense scrutiny.

He could get used to this, he thought, as he watched the other patrons, displaying an array of emotions only magical potions could produce in one place.

To Harry's mind, even the most boisterous display seemed appropriate. Everything felt right in the world.

As they settled back into their seats, savouring the calming effects of the potion, the conversation flowed easily once more. They nibbled on the, frankly fantastic, hors d’oeuvres, discussing the peculiarities of their chosen potions and their unique effects.

“So, what other adventures did you and your mother embark on in Greece?” Harry asked, genuinely curious, his eyes scanning Draco’s face for any hint of excitement.

Draco leaned back, his demeanour relaxed. He had a way of taking up the space that conveyed to everyone loud and clear: I belong here. Harry, who quite often felt like the odd one out, wished he felt like that more often.

“We visited some of the lesser-known magical sites, away from the usual tourist spots. One place in particular, the Cave of Learning, was fascinating. They say it’s where Circe herself used to practise her magic.”

Harry’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine interest sparking within. Longer vacations might not be in the cards for him, but that didn’t mean the simple concept wasn’t exciting. “That sounds incredible. Did you find any residual magic there?”

Draco frowned, but a slow smile still curved his lips. “No, Potter. That’s not a thing. But still, quite the experience.” He looked down at his hands where they rested on the table. He adjusted the edge of his sleeve, fingers grazing the fabric like he’d been taught to care for the finer details since birth. He looked up once the job was complete. “And you? How was your holiday? Besides it ending badly, of course.”

Harry sighed, leaning back slightly. “It was nice at first, but then things got complicated. Ron and Hermione came back early from their honeymoon because of the negative press about us. They were worried.”

Draco’s expression turned blank, leaving no room to analyse his internal emotional state. “They know about our arrangement, then?”

Harry shook his head, meeting Draco’s gaze steadily. “No, they don’t. They just saw the headlines and rushed back. They were concerned for me, but they don’t know the truth.”

Draco’s eyebrows arched. “You didn’t tell them?”

“No, they don’t need to know everything about me.”

Especially when they take it as their cue to meddle.

Draco’s expression morphed, a peculiar look crossing his face. “I see.”

The waitress returned, and Draco gestured to the menu again. “We’ll have two Amortentia Breezes, please.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Feeling adventurous, are we?”

“Why not? Let’s see what fleeting love feels like without the enchantment.”

“Why not,” Harry agreed.

The conversation came to a natural lull and Harry soaked up the atmosphere again. The dimly lit interior of the Potion Lounge presented a sophisticated face to the world, its ambiance exuding luxury, exclusivity and style.

The clinking of glassware had become background noise, the occasional burst of laughter created a lively yet intimate setting, only slightly marred by the frantic affirmations of love from one table, their pink drinks still half full. He could just imagine this place booming around Valentine's.

Harry leaned back, smiling when the man followed his proclamation of love by sliding to one knee and pulling out a ring box.

“Guess we’re not upstaging that tonight,” he murmured when the excited girlfriend jumped up, nodding frantically and becoming a fiancée.

Draco, who'd been deep in thought, and whose back was to the spectacle, looked up. “Hmm?”

Harry nodded in the direction, a faint smile on his face as the woman flung her hands around the guy, who twirled her twice in excitement.

A smattering of applause followed, everyone else mellowed from their potions, an air of appreciation for someone else's happiness permeating the air.

“He's wanted to ask her for months,” Draco said, his eyes distant. He smiled a tiny smile. “He knew two weeks after meeting her.”

The waitress returned, carrying two delicate, mother-of-pearl-tinted potions in crystal glasses. She set them down gently, and a faint smile playing on her lips, clearly directed more in Draco’s direction.

“Do you have to actively control not hearing people's thoughts?” Harry asked, once she left.

Draco sighed and leaned back, like he’d learned elegance as easily as breathing and about at the same age. “Unfortunately, yes. Some days I do get the worst headaches, when I’m around people that don't shield automatically.”

They raised their glasses, the muted light casting warm hues on their faces.

One side of Draco’s mouth curled and Harry practically heard the challenge. Scared, Potter?

He responded with a raised eyebrow. You wish!

Their glasses clinked before they took a sip, and Harry immediately felt a rush of warmth spreading through him, a sense of light-hearted affection and joy bubbling up, as familiar scents associated with comfort and happiness – freshly cut grass, treacle tart, cold stone and the distinct aroma of broomstick oil – wafted through his senses.

With a small knot of apprehension, he directed his gaze to Draco, wondering what he was about to feel. But nothing much changed, except an oddly light feeling to his heart. Well, he supposed that was the point, no one came to the Potion Lounge to drink actual Amortentia.

Draco’s eyes sparkled. “Interesting sensation, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, feeling a soft smile spread across his face. “It’s... nice. Makes everything seem a bit brighter.”

Draco snorted. “Indeed.”

Harry couldn't help but wonder what Draco was experiencing.

As they sat in the cosy atmosphere of the Potion Lounge, the gentle effects of the Amortentia Breeze enhanced not only their mood. Harry found himself noticing the subtle ways Draco's hair caught the light and how his eyes crinkled slightly when he laughed.

A new smell hit Harry's nose, a delicate fragrance, reminiscent of blooming jasmine and honeysuckle, light and ethereal, floating in the air around him, intoxicating in its own right as much as the more familiar smells had been comforting.

“So,” Draco began, his tone more serious. “Will I utterly spoil the mood if I start talking about Evander Price? He has been rather relentless, hasn’t he?”

Harry sighed, the warmth from the potion tempering his frustration. He absentmindedly thumbed over his right wrist. “Yeah, he’s been on a rampage. Molly kept hiding the papers from me. But at least we achieved our goal, right?”

Draco tilted his head, considering. “For now.”

Harry shrugged, taking another sip of his potion. “You think he’ll try something else?”

Draco leaned back, swirling his near-empty glass thoughtfully. “He’s driven and wants success at nearly any cost, though this feels like he has a personal vendetta against you. Right now he’s filling the newspapers with all sorts of nonsense about your mental state. The last article wasn’t just harsh, he’s building up to something. Changing the public narrative by continuously discrediting you.”

Harry thought about it. “The question is ‘Why’?’”

“Indeed.” Draco gulped the last of his drink, licking his lips before setting the tumbler down. He slid back in his seat, looking for all the world like there was no place he’d rather be. Their gazes held before his eyes flicked down to Harry’s lips.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, feeling the potion’s effects deepen his sense of connection to Draco. The new scents filled Harry’s senses again, making him feel almost giddy. “I’ve dealt with the press before.” And with Price.

“This might be different. He wasn't above completely fabricating a love story for you. I doubt he will stop now.”

Harry looked at Draco, feeling a strange pull towards him, a mixture of genuine affection and the potion’s influence.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked, somewhat surprised to realise he'd leaned forward, elbows on the table, like he couldn't get close enough to Draco. Harry cleared his throat and sat up straight.

Draco smirked, leaning forward and extending his hands across the table. It was a mere second before Harry followed suit, clasping Draco's dry palms to his own. In the far corner, a flash went off. Thanks, Brixley.

“We stay on course,” Draco murmured, smiling invitingly in Harry's direction. Even if it was for the sake of the onlookers, something stirred in Harry's stomach. “We certainly can't give him a chance to get the truth. He'd wipe the floor with us with that story.”

“In that case,” Harry murmured, fascinated with how Draco's long, elegant fingers slid through his, “want to come to lunch at Hogwarts this week? There's only a handful of students and teachers around, but maybe that's something we might start off with. If we really were dating, I mean.”

Draco looked at him for a long moment. “I'd love to come,” Draco said. A flash of teeth preceded his following words, “though I think you're wrong, Potter. If we did this for real, the relationship would be so all-consuming, neither of us would give a flying fuck of what others thought. Not really.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, far too softly. “Yeah, I think you're right about that.”

The waitress walked past and Draco broke the intense moment by calling her over. “We’ll have two Draughts of Insight, please,” he said, one hand freed to gesture to her, the fingers of the second still idly playing with Harry's, right there on the table for everyone to see.

She nodded, promised a swift delivery and sauntered off.

“Feeling like getting some clarity?” Draco slid his index and middle finger down the sensitive inside of Harry's wrist. Harry suppressed a shiver. He'd always thought it was one of his more erogenous zones. “I've not only spent my vacation gallivanting about Greece's beaches to get a winter tan, I also researched those runes, as promised.”

Harry sat back up, their hands finally disengaging. “That was fast.” He quickly cast a privacy charm. It wouldn't interfere with anyone listening in, but they'd hear the most inane conversation instead of the real thing.

“What was that,” Draco asked, suddenly sitting up straight and looking around like a hippogriff might jump out at him any second.

“Something I learned in Auror training. To anyone looking on, we'll simply look like we're having a relaxed conversation, and that's what they'll hear, too. Any objects we handle will look like something mundane. It only lasts fifteen minutes though.”

Draco’s pinched expression slowly faded, giving way to one of interest. “You'll have to teach me that one.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Maybe. Come on, tell me what you found. I thought this would be more difficult and time consuming, if I'm honest.”

Draco shrugged, but Harry detected some pride in his expression. “I assumed you were spoiled by Granger getting results quickly, so I made it a high priority.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You mean you were intrigued.”

Draco shrugged one shoulder before agreeing, “I was intrigued. I'm a sucker for a good puzzle, after all.”

He pulled out a tiny square, tapped it with his wand and enlarged it. He slid the parchment over to Harry, who looked at it with interest.

“That is a shopping list,” he said, frowning. His eyes had snagged on the fourth item. Condoms. What the fuck?

Draco nodded, leaning in and beckoning Harry closer. They met in the middle of the small table, Draco's lips brushing the shell of Harry's ear as he whispered, “The password is Aletheia.”

The moment Harry heard it, the lines on the page started to move, forming entirely new shapes, even a little sketch of all the runes appeared in the top corner, an arrow with a single name pointing to each.

While Harry studied it, the waitress brought two potions, the liquid a shimmering silver. They raised their glasses after her departure, clincked them and drank.

Harry felt a surge of sharpness, as if his mind had suddenly cleared a fog. “Perfect potion for this,” he muttered.

Draco placed a worn, ancient-looking and tiny book on the table, smaller than a matchbox. He enlarged it quickly and flipped it open to a page filled with strange symbols.

"Runes are fascinating," he began, tracing a finger over one of the symbols. "Unlike our modern alphabets, each rune has a meaning and is connected to universal forces that change and evolve over time. They're just as relevant today as they were thousands of years ago."

"So, they aren't just letters?"

"Exactly," Draco nodded. "Each rune is far more than just a character. They contain three aspects. First, there's the symbol itself, the shape and what it visually represents. Then, there's the name of the rune, which includes its letter value and the sound it makes. Finally, there's the energy and spirit embodied by the rune. This is the most complex part, as it's very subjective and can be interpreted differently depending on the reader's experiences and the context in which the rune is used."

Harry's brow furrowed. "So, it's like each rune has its own personality?"

"In a way, yes," Draco replied. When he spoke, his hands moved in controlled, subtle gestures, like he was carefully sculpting each word in the air. "And these runes are organised into three sets of eight, called aettir – think of them as families. The first rune of each aett is known as a Mother Rune. The three Mother Runes are Fehu, Hagalaz, and Tiwaz."

Harry glanced at the symbols Draco had pointed out. "And these Mother Runes, they're like the leaders of their families?"

"More like the anchors," Draco explained. "Fehu, for example, is associated with wealth and prosperity, but it's also about starting new ventures. Hagalaz represents disruption and transformation, often through chaos. Tiwaz is connected to justice and sacrifice. Each aett starts with one of these foundational runes, setting the tone for the runes that follow."

Harry nodded slowly, his mind working to absorb the information. "So we were right, these runes we found in the hidden room, they're telling us something significant."

“You were right, yes. I barely paid them any mind. And even the Aurors brushed them off as insignificant to the case.”

Harry snorted. “Who are you? Why are you polyjuiced into Draco Malfoy?”

“I give credit where credit is due.”

Harry almost laughed. “Since when?”

Draco still looked oddly prim when he sighed in exasperation. “Could you stop being a wanker for just a moment please?”

“Hah. Takes one to know one,” Harry said, showing his teeth in a smile. “Please, continue.”

Draco nodded and Harry couldn't help but be endeared by this more bookish, prim side of him. "Interpreting them correctly might be impossible. The best we can hope for is a general idea of what they were used for. We need to consider the symbol, the name, and the energy each rune carries. It's like piecing together a puzzle."

Harry smiled. "Well, it's a good thing I have you to help figure it out."

Draco lips pressed into a thin line, but the corners of his mouth still twitched upward. "Yes, Potter, it is.”

Draco flipped to another page he had bookmarked and pointed to the first rune.

"Kenaz represents knowledge, creativity, and technical ability," he explained. "It's like a beacon of light, symbolising enlightenment and the quest for understanding. In the context of our case, it could mean that the perpetrator has a deep knowledge of something, perhaps a specialised skill or hidden information."

Harry nodded, listening intently. "So, it could be a clue to the identity of the person involved?"

"Exactly," Draco agreed. "Next, we have Sowilo, which stands for success, vitality, and energy. This rune is often associated with the sun and can symbolise a burst of energy or a period of great success. It might indicate that the person is in a position of power or experiencing a significant triumph."

"Or maybe they're trying to draw energy from something," Harry suggested.

"That's a good point," Draco said, looking thoughtful. "Then we have Raido, which is about journey, movement, and change. This one could mean that the perpetrator is on the move, or that there's a significant change happening. It might even suggest that they're travelling or shifting locations frequently."

"Which we already know. Though we can't know for certain if that's what this rune implies or if it's something we haven't considered," Harry deduced.

"Pretty much, yes," Draco confirmed. "Finally, we have Dagaz, which stands for dawn, breakthrough, and transformation. This rune symbolises a new beginning or a significant transformation. It could indicate a major change or a new phase starting."

Harry leaned back, considering the page and comparing it to the book. "So, Kenaz for knowledge, Sowilo for energy, Raido for movement, and Dagaz for transformation.”

Draco nodded. “Exactly. These runes could well be part of a ritual or spell. I've had a bit of time to think about it and with Kenaz for knowledge and technical ability, they might be using that expertise to prepare something. Sowilo might be for gathering energy of some kind, not sure for what. Raido might be animation by itself or the actual process of activating something. And Dagaz would be the transformation or the result of that activation.”

Harry mulled it over. “If that interpretation is correct, the runes were there to set something powerful into motion. Like a spell? Or an artefact?”

"Precisely," Draco said, his expression serious. “But there are a few other possibilities we should consider, Potter. But we need more clues to know which way we should start thinking. As it stands, the combinations are too vast for a clear analysis.”

Harry nodded, absorbing Draco's theories with a newfound sense of urgency. "We need to act fast and figure out what they're planning," he said.

Draco closed the book, meeting Harry's gaze. "Precisely," he agreed. “Ideally, we'd need access to the case files. Maybe the Aurors found something, but don't know to connect it to this.”

Harry nodded, deep in thought. “That won't be a problem. I can get access to the files, though it would probably be asking a bit much to bring you along. You'll just have to trust I won't miss anything.”

“Just like that?” Draco asked in disbelief. “They'll just give you access to an ongoing investigation?”

“Think so. I'll have to go through Fairweather, but she usually gives me a lot of leeway. I don't see why she wouldn't.”

Draco gaped at him. “Must be nice to be The Golden Boy with an all-access pass.”

“Shut up,” Harry said without rancour. “It's not like you don't want to figure this out.”

“I do,” Draco agreed. “Though I never realised how many doors your name really can open. You should be the most powerful wizard in our society, and here you are, teaching children to duck curses.”

“I like my job,” Harry said.

Draco just shook his head. “We're lucky you weren't sorted into Slytherin. Merlin knows how our world would look like today if you had.”

###

Before deciding to leave, another two people came up to Harry for a photo. One shyly held out a cloth napkin and asked him to transfigure it. Harry, never all that good at Transfiguration, managed to turn it into a small swan, though it had the definite look of origami about it.

They left soon after, walking out hand in hand and ignoring several camera flashes behind them.

Draco leaned in. “Well, it seems to be working, then.”

Harry nodded. He'd be annoyed if this had happened on a real date, but of course, this was the goal here. It left him with an odd disjointed feeling.

Outside, the sky was dark and the air had a bite to it.

Something drew Harry's attention to his left, a sixth sense, or maybe his magic making him aware of it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark figure detach itself from the wall, following them.

“Someone from the Prophet is trailing us,” Draco whispered into his ear. “That new guy, Powell. I can hear his thoughts from here,” Draco added.

“You sound personally offended by that.”

“What reporter doesn't know how to shield his thoughts? It's embarrassing to be associated with him.”

They walked under a street lamp, the moment the light hit them, Harry was sure he heard the shutter of a camera.

“Is he taking photos?”

Draco really did look embarrassed for his fellow tradesman. “Yes.”

Harry’s breathing slowed, his mind suddenly crystal clear. They could turn this into the perfect headline, and the rush of the idea made his magic sing. “We should give him what he came for, then,” he muttered, so close to Draco's ear he could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “It'll be perfect for our story.”

Draco arched an eyebrow at him. “Making out in public? Is that your kink, Potter?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “No, not really. Not at all, in fact. I've learned to be dreadfully private. But the faster the papers get some proper pictures, the faster everyone will catch on, right?”

“Right,” Draco said. “You sure you're up for it?”

“You wouldn't be the first bloke I snogged, Malfoy,” Harry said, his voice full of confidence. Inside his head, he was screaming at himself in ever increasing octaves.

They arrived at another lamp post, Draco pulling Harry closer while leaning back against the metal pole. His entire demeanour had changed once again tonight, gone was the suave man entering the Potions Lounge, the excited son talking of his holiday with his mother and the slightly nerdy scholar deeply interested in the runes he had researched.

This version was enticing, with eyes half lidded and a quirk to his mouth that spelled trouble. He dragged Harry closer by his trousers, sliding one long-fingered hand under the back of his jumper.

Harry shuddered at the skin-to-skin contact before realising that their hips were pushed together rather lewdly.

“Well then, Golden Boy. Do show me how you kissed all these other men.”

Draco’s lips curved into a smile that seemed more for himself than for anyone else, as if he’d just told himself a joke too private to share. His voice though had been low and inviting, with just enough challenge to have Harry's hand come up to cup the nape of Draco's neck. As he leaned toward Draco, it felt like the final move in a game he’d been trying to play all night, the thrill of stepping over the line just too enticing to resist.

Their lips brushed. Heat exploded in Harry's spine, travelling down like a live wire. Adrenaline surged in his veins.

Shit.

He angled his head and got a better grip on Draco's neck. That deepened the kiss. That, and the fact that Harry started using his tongue.

There was a surprised sound from Draco, gone the moment Harry felt another tug on his belt loop.

Shit, shit, shit.

Draco's arm wrapped around him, low, his hand resting somewhere between Harry's hip and arse. The fingertips dug into his skin, short nails adding a delicious sting.

Harry groaned and felt Draco’s smirk, tasted it on his tongue. That wouldn't do, that wouldn't do at all. So Harry released his nape and skimmed his hand forward, cupping Draco's jaw, angling his face just where he wanted it, where it felt the best.

Shit, this was a good kiss.

And with Draco Malfoy. Who would have thought…

They stood there and kissed, right under the light of the street lamp for anyone to see.

No.

Not for anyone, for someone specific. Harry had to remind himself of that, or he'd drift off, lose himself in this kiss, in Draco.

Surely one night wouldn't be that bad? They were both willing adults, after all.

No. He'd done that once before, mixed business with pleasure. And look where that got him.

Pulling back cost him a lot. But not doing so, not stopping himself, would be far more catastrophic.

For a few long moments Harry just stood there, staring at Draco who had his eyes closed, lips red and well kissed.

He looked like he was desperately waiting for more.

“You have freckles,” Harry said, softly, because they were standing close and Draco's hands were still underneath his jumper, leaving crescent shaped marks on his skin.

Draco didn't open his eyes. “I do not.”

Harry smiled, delighted he'd found something he thought pretty but Malfoy was clearly not fond of. “You do. They're all across the bridge of your nose.” He tilted Draco’s head with his hand still conveniently on Draco’s jaw. “Over your cheekbones, too. Why didn't I know about this?”

Draco's eyes opened, utterly unreadable. “Concealment Charm, Potter. And very little sun otherwise.”

Harry dragged his thumb gently over Draco's cheek bones, playing connect the dots.

“I like freckles.”

“As your dating history would suggest.”

Harry tilted his head. “Is that why you didn't conceal them?”

“No.” Draco frowned. “I forgot.”

Harry smiled. “I'm glad,” he said, and it came out too soft.

Draco cleared his throat. “I think he has enough pictures now.”

Harry nodded, taking that as his cue to step back. For a moment they just stood there, slightly awkward now.

“Come on,” Draco said, his tone completely neutral. He did slip his hand into Harry's, though. “I'll walk you back to the castle.”

Harry nodded his agreement. There wasn't much he wouldn't agree to right then.

Chapter Text

Harry stood outside the door to Head Auror Fairweather’s office, taking a deep breath before knocking. The polished wood gleamed under the enchanted lights, like it had been recently cleaned.

It had been a while since he’d been in the Ministry for something semi-official, and even longer since he’d dealt with anything this serious. Still, the cloying feeling he got whenever at the Ministry still had a hold of him.

“Come in,” a calm voice called from within.

Pushing the door open, Harry stepped inside. The office was exactly as he remembered it with Shacklebolt – several bookshelves filled with well-worn tomes, most of them law books. A large mahogany desk, a nearly empty outbox on the right, an overflowing inbox on the left. The room held few personal touches, a family portrait on the wall and robes on a wall-mounted coat rack off to the side.

Head Auror Fairweather sat behind her desk, her eyes scrutinising Harry’s every move. “Potter,” she said with a nod, gesturing for him to sit. “What can I do for you?”

“Thank you for seeing me on short notice, Auror Fairweather,” Harry began, sitting in the chair opposite her. He'd only sent her an owl this morning, which had returned to him before lunch. “I’m here about the blackouts.”

Fairweather leaned back in her chair. “I assumed as much.”

Harry nodded. “I have a… hunch, I guess. I’m not asking to join the investigation or get updates on your current line of investigation, but I need access to the files. I might be able to help.”

He'd been paired with Fairweather coming straight out of Auror training, when she'd been little more than a rookie herself. Now she held the highest job in the field. If he'd stayed on course, he could be sitting where she was now. Instead, she'd witnessed some of his most arduous magical outbursts to date. He'd been gently and firmly asked to leave the force, while she'd gone on to shine.

Fairweather studied him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing as she considered his request. “The case is still active and highly classified, Harry. You know I can’t just hand over that information.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand.

“However,” she continued, “I remember how you saved my Aurors just the other day. And that night in Diagon Alley… without you, that collapsing building would have killed several. However, I do expect a full report on any pertinent findings you come across within twenty-four hours, and I'll have to add you in as an official consultant to make this all legal. And I’m sending someone with you – Auror Grayson.”

Harry groaned. “Grayson? Really? Come on, Evelyn, you know how he is.”

Fairweather nodded, already scribbling something on a piece of parchment. “He’s a stickler for the rules, he's respected by my superiors and he’s got a sharp mind and good instincts. I trust him to keep this matter confidential and, more importantly, above board. Besides, the case is still unfolding. You’ll need someone with clearance to get to the more sensitive materials. Take it or leave it.”

Harry gritted his teeth. Grayson had been a thorn in his side ever since they both started Auror training together. They'd never seen eye-to-eye and Harry's subsequent informal dismissal had given Grayson the idea he'd been in the right from the beginning. This wouldn't be fun. With no other choice, Harry nodded grimly.

Fairweather continued writing some lines and sealed the parchment with a flick of her wand, then handed it to him. “Take this to the records department. Grayson will meet you there.”

“Thank you, Evelyn,” Harry said, tucking the parchment into his robes as he stood to leave.

“Oh, and Harry,” Fairweather called after him, a small smile playing on her lips. “How’s Draco?”

Harry turned back, slightly taken aback by the question. This part he hadn't missed since keeping his relationships after Ginny out of the public eye. “He’s… he’s doing well. Just got back from a holiday in Greece with his mother.”

“Good to hear. Tell him I said hello.”

“I will,” Harry promised, slightly off-balance, then left the office, the door clicking shut behind him.

###

The corridors of the Ministry were just as bustling as ever. As Harry made his way to the elevators, he passed various offices, catching glimpses of busy Aurors, animated memos zooming overhead, and the occasional ghostly figure consulting with Ministry officials.

When he reached the elevator, he stepped inside, joining a couple of Ministry employees. The bronze gates clanged shut, and the lift began its descent, the familiar sensation of magical weightlessness accompanying the ride.

The back of his neck tingled, but Harry tried to ignore it. Someone was watching him. He could almost feel the weight of the gaze, and when he turned to look, the witch in the corner didn’t bother to look away.

“Excuse me,” she said suddenly, her voice cutting through the backdrop of the elevator music. “Is it true then? About you and Draco Malfoy?”

Harry stiffened slightly, but kept his tone calm. “Yes, it’s true.”

The witch’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, I never would have thought…” She trailed off, looking thoroughly disgusted. “Do you have any idea what his father did during the war?”

“I’m not sure what his dead father has to do with me dating him, but to answer your question: Yes, I do,” Harry said. She was about ten years younger than him. “Because I was there.”

That shut her up, though she continued glaring at him. Harry shrugged mentally. This was the first time someone wasn't fawning over Draco. He'd expected it to hold more weight, but it was just another person with another opinion. Which would have been all well and good, if her opinion hadn't been about him; someone she didn't know in the first place.

Before Harry could respond, the elevator announced, “Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

The witch quickly stepped out, giving Harry one last furious glance before disappearing down the hallway.

As the lift continued on its way, Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit exposed. He’d grown used to people recognising him, but their interest in his relationship with Draco was still something new.

With Ginny, after the war, no one had really questioned them about it. And back then, she had little merit to her own name, and was mostly referred to as ‘Potter’s girlfriend’. That changed, of course, when she made the Harpies lineup. By the time they broke up, Harry had become somewhat of a by-line in her success story.

“Level Nine, Department of Mysteries,” the voice intoned as the elevator stopped. Harry stepped out into a dimly lit corridor, checked the faintly glowing signs and headed in the direction of the records office.

When he arrived, a tall, wiry man with distinct hawkish features; sharp green eyes and sandy blond hair, was waiting by the door. He had an air of quiet confidence about him, the kind that comes from someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

“Potter,” Grayson greeted. “I see you managed to worm your way into this investigation.”

“The term is ‘Official Consultant on the Case’. OCC for short. I'm surprised you don't know it, since you're such a by-the-books type of guy. Shocking, really.”

Grayson's hawkish expression intensified. “What would you know about the rules, Potter? Never found one you didn't think you were above, did you.”

Harry shrugged. He'd never seen eye-to-eye with Grayson, and they'd never much pretended to like each other. This would be such a drag.

“Come on then,” Harry said in his best Draco impression. “Do lead the way.”

Grayson grumbled but obliged. It would go against everything inside of him to disobey orders by his superior.

Harry forced a polite smile, aware of the man’s scrutinising gaze as they walked into the records office together.

They reached the records desk, and Harry handed over the parchment Fairweather had given him. The clerk took it, nodded once, and disappeared into the back to retrieve the files.

“Any leads so far?” Harry asked, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Grayson leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. When he spoke it sounded like he had to force his jaw to unclench. “A few, but nothing concrete. I believe they're zeroing in on potion makers, but you should find all those details in the file.”

Harry nodded, feeling awkward as they stood there waiting, no small talk or snide remarks to tide them over.

When the clerk returned, it wasn't just with a file or two, as Harry had expected. He also carried two boxes marked ‘evidence’, balancing several thick folders on top. Grayson nodded and grabbed half. “Let’s see what your expertise can find that we missed.”

Harry took the remaining boxes, the weight far less than he'd expected. But then, these wouldn't be filled with bricks just for the hell of it.

Grayson led the way to a comfortable room with a huge office desk and several couches lining the walls, the kind of place designed for long hours spent poring over documents. The walls were lined with shelves full of reference books from magical theory to those detailing the mating habits of Kneazles.

The only light came from a few softly glowing orbs floating near the ceiling, casting a warm, amber light across the space.

“Let’s get started,” Grayson said, setting the files on the desk. Harry followed suit, and the two began unpacking the contents in silence.

The first box contained various reports, photographs, and detailed accounts of the blackouts, all neatly organised into folders. Harry flipped through them quickly, familiarising himself with the basic details of the case and trying to commit the places to memory without being obvious.

They spent the next several hours combing through the files and evidence, occasionally stopping to discuss something in terse tones. The information was detailed, but frustratingly, it led to more questions than answers. The reports were thorough, outlining the symptoms of those affected by the blackouts, the spread of the phenomenon, and the areas where the events had occurred. Yet, there was no clear pattern, no discernible cause that could link them all together.

The only thing of interest to Harry was a single sheet detailing the place where he had shattered the music box. It had been rented out for a three month stint, though the name from the contract; Norman Bates, had Harry sighing loudly.

“Well, the perps think they have a sense of humour. And they're probably at least half-bloods.”

Grayson's eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”

Harry pointed at the name on the lease agreement. “Norman Bates,” he said. “From Psycho?”

“Should I know him?”

“Only if you watched the classics,” Harry mumbled. “He's a fictional character.”

The second box was filled with items collected from various blackout sites – pieces of clothing, shards of glass, bits of debris, and a small, clear bag containing several feathers.

Harry poked at them. “Any significance to these?”

“Those were found at the scene of the first blackout,” Grayson explained. “The Ministry had them analysed. They’re non-magical as far as that can be determined, from a European bird, I believe. The report is in here somewhere.”

Harry picked up the bag, studying the feathers more closely. They were a pale grey, almost silvery in the dim light. There was something about them that felt… off. Before realising what he was doing, he sent a tendril of magic to untie the bag and grabbing one while Grayson was hunched over, looking for the file. There must have been hundreds of them here, no one would be any the wiser.

He discreetly pocketed the tiny thing before retieing the knot and placing the bag on the table like he had nothing to hide.

“That's the report,” Grayson said, sliding the file across to him.

Harry nodded, pretending to read some experts' analysis and inane waffling which just ended in ‘unidentified’. He tried not to roll his eyes. He'd ask Millicent and if she, too, couldn't identify it, then he'd accept the ramblings of a stranger as truth. He knew it was a long shot, but generally, you had to take those to close a case.

After what felt like an eternity, Grayson stretched, rubbing his eyes. “Has your special brain managed to solve this case yet? It's well past lunch time.”

Shit, he'd have to go soon, he had an afternoon class with the fifth years to get to.

Harry leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Can I get a copy of the interviews with the people affected by the blackouts? There's hundreds of pages.”

Grayson snorted. “Breaking the rules again, Potter? I don't think so.”

Harry sighed. He really had to get to his class, but if this arsehole wouldn't give him the transcripts, then he'd just have to go interview them himself. He leaned back, grabbing the first file. “Enjoy the wait, then.”

He'd scan the writing for anything interesting and memorise the names. He just hoped that all those names rattling around his brain wouldn't blur together into one gigantic hodgepodge. The thought of presenting these names to Draco left Harry feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t an adrenaline rush, but it filled the same space without the exhaustion that usually followed.

Grayson glared at him, arms crossed, his posture screaming ‘I'm done helping’.

Harry rolled his eyes at him.

Fuck Grayson, anyway.

###

Harry returned to Hogwarts, the sun still high enough to cast warm, golden light over the landscape.

As he reached the edge of the castle’s shadow, Harry paused, glancing up at the towering walls. He retrieved the feather from his pocket, examining it by the light of day. It didn't look special.

He might as well head straight towards Millicent's hut and hopefully get some answers before his class.

Before he could get more than a couple of steps, Gabby came bounding towards him. It took him a moment to understand that instead of a greeting, she wanted the feather.

He held it out to her. “Be gentle, okay? I need to show this to Millicent.”

Gabby chirped, her nostrils flaring as she nearly inhaled the damn thing. Believing she'd had enough, Harry drew back, but a gentle paw reached out, touching his hand.

“I'm not sure how much more you'll get from sniffing this.”

While Gabby did – well, whatever she was doing, Harry took the opportunity to examine her. Last night, when she'd lain on his chest, she'd felt heavier than normal. She looked totally fine, but was it his imagination or had she grown?

Gabby was three years old, surely she shouldn't be growing, should she?

She let out an odd sound, somewhere between a purr and a meow. She sniffed the feather again, her pupils blown wide, her tail flicking rhythmically.

“You okay, Gabby?” he asked. “Come on, I'm heading to Millicent's. Might as well ask what's up with you.”

Together, they made their way to the hut, where Millicent was outside, tending to a small flock of Augureys perched on a wooden fence. The area around the hut had been transformed under her care, and it was clear to anyone how much attention she gave to her work and surroundings.

As they approached, Gabby dashed ahead, eager to greet her. Harry smiled as he watched his cat nuzzle against Millicent’s legs, her second favourite person besides him. Millicent had been the one who found the orphaned kitten and who'd brought her to Hogwarts. And when Gabby had clearly chosen Harry, Millicent had smiled and told him as long as she knew Gabby was in good hands, she wouldn't mind giving her up. To Millicent, the animals always came first.

"Well, hello there, Gabby," Millicent said, her voice softening as she stroked the animal's mane-like fur. "I see you’ve brought Harry to visit."

Gabby purred loudly, making it clear how much she adored the attention, flopping onto her side a moment before hopping back up when she realised that put her out of petting range. She bumped Millicent's leg so vigorously that Millicent had to grab the fence post or lose her balance.

“I think Gabby might be growing. D’you think she's okay?” Harry asked, his eyes tracking Gabby's every movement in concern.

Millicent shrugged, clearly unbothered. “She's doing her job as a familiar, I suspect. I wouldn't worry about it. Everything else fine with her?”

Harry nodded. “No change otherwise.”

Millicent leaned down, grabbing Gabby's head between her hands. “You'd let us know if you had a problem, right?”

Gabby gave another little chirp before heading over to check out the augureys.

Millicent was still smiling when she asked, "So, what brings you out here?"

Harry held out the feather. "I was hoping you could help me identify this?”

Millicent took the feather, her brow furrowing as she examined it closely. She turned it over in her hands, studying the texture and the way the light played across its surface. "It's a down feather," she murmured, dragging it between thumb and forefinger, observing its spring. "It’s hard to determine the exact bird it came from, but… given its size and softness, I’d guess it’s not from an adult bird."

“There were bigger ones in the bag. I just grabbed the first one.”

Gabby had returned to Millicent's side the moment she'd taken possession of the feather, her front paws now balanced against Millicent's leg as she tried batting at the little feather with her paw, the tuft on the end of her tail flicking back and forth.

Millicent looked up at Harry, her expression thoughtful. “I'm assuming this is important?” At Harry's simple nod she continued, “then can I keep this for a while? I’ll have to do some research, maybe consult other magical creature specialists with their focus on birds."

Harry nodded. "Of course. I’d appreciate it. But maybe store it in a box, Gabby seems obsessed with that thing.”

Millicent nodded, still deep in thought, gently pushing Gabby off her. "It might take some time, but hopefully I’ll be able to narrow it down for you. I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything concrete."

"Thanks, Millicent," Harry said, relieved that she was willing to help. They hadn't always been on best terms, only their shared love for Gabby finally offering some common ground they could stand on.

She gave him a small, reassuring nod. "I’ll get on it tonight.”

When it was clear the feather wouldn't be given to her, Gabby rubbed against Millicent’s leg one last time before trotting back to Harry’s side, looking at him expectantly.

“And you're sure this one is fine?”

“Yes,” Millicent assured. “If she's eating and no less active than usual, then it's something she's choosing. It could be as simple as having spotted prey in the Forbidden Forest much larger than her, a natural response. She is magical, after all.”

Harry nodded, trying not to worry. It wasn't really possible though, he'd had to learn that pretty quickly since adopting Gabby for good.

With a few murmured words Harry turned back towards the castle, Gabby right there by his side.

Chapter Text

It took them nearly two weeks to find enough available free space in their respective schedules to meet up again in person.

Draco was still busy catching up from his holiday and Harry got back into the full swing of teaching when the students returned from break, though he got called into the Headmistress’ office once again to be reminded of what constituted the syllabus and what didn’t. Apparently, last week's impromptu hex-evasion course he'd erected in an unused classroom had made its way to McGonagall’s ears. She wasn't best pleased.

By now, everyone seemed to have formed an opinion about the unlikely pair and it wasn't uncommon for Harry to walk up to a cluster of students – and in one case teachers – discussing his relationship. Yesterday he'd even overheard the Bloody Baron give his opinion on the matter. Oddly enough, it wasn't any different than when they discussed any other part of his life.

On an overcast Tuesday, Harry was seated at the head table in the Great Hall. He was about halfway finished with lunch, hampered by Gabby who had insisted on curling up in his lap. Her growth was unmistakable now, and she had difficulties curling up in his lap without sliding off the edges.

One of the smaller doors behind the teachers' table opened, and Draco entered with a confident stride, as if he came here every day. When he crossed the distance, he did so with a quiet command that seemed to shrink the space around him, perfectly at ease taking up as much or as little room as he chose.

For a moment, all conversation in the hall ceased, only to explode seconds later at a decibel level rarely heard outside of pre-holiday excitement. Draco, however, didn’t so much as twitch an eye.

No matter his countenance, it wasn't normal for him to be here though. Of course, the setting wasn't really ideal, but it was the best they'd been able to come up with given their workload.

Harry, who'd sat down the moment he'd come home from the Ministry to jot down as many names he could remember, had flat out refused sending the page by owl. It was one thing to nick a tiny feather, it was a whole different thing to accidentally expose people stuck in St Mungo's when someone intercepted the letter.

As Draco approached, Harry felt a small but unmistakable surge of energy – a thrill that was quieter than the usual rush he yearned for, but it lingered all the same, seeping into his bones. His magic gave a happy murmur in response. Gabby lifted her head, looking at him through half-closed eyes.

Draco bent down for a chaste kiss to Harry's cheek, murmuring, “Merlin, you need to teach these kids to shield their thoughts” before he slid into the chair beside him, throwing a casual greeting to Neville, who had taken the seat on Harry's other side. Neville, slightly taken aback, returned the greeting cordially.

"You're late," Harry said, oddly flustered at the small public display of affection. His cheek tingled and he wanted nothing more than to wipe at it. He didn't.

"Fashionably late, Potter," Draco replied easily. He leaned over and snuck a piece of carrot from Harry's plate. "How was your morning?"

"Busy. Classes, grading work, the usual," Harry said, one hand stroking Gabby’s soft fur. She was purring up a storm, kneading her claws into his thigh in a distinctly uncomfortable manner. "How about you?"

"I've been taking more and more field assignments,” Draco said, his pinched expression making it clear what he thought of that. “If I’m at the Prophet headquarters for too long, then inevitably Price will hunt me down. He's been relentless, wanting a statement about our relationship. It's getting rather tedious."

Harry chuckled. "Aww, look at you all scared by the press.”

Draco shot him a dark look, then pointedly grabbed Harry's spoon right out of his hand. The movement caused the edge of his shirt sleeve peeked from beneath his jumper, a pristine white against the wool, as though he couldn't help but look polished, even in his casual moments. He scooped up a healthy portion of mashed potato and, with one eyebrow arched and their gazes locked, ate it slowly and deliberately.

“I'm not scared of him, Potter. I'm annoyed.”

“I remember how you used to make fun of me for being featured in the papers. If you're annoyed, it's probably just karma.”

Draco rolled his eyes, sneaking another mouthful. Harry pushed the plate towards him.

“Saw Peeves in a suit of armour on my way in, wreaking havoc by the main entrance.”

Harry let the change of topic slide. They'd talk about how to deal with Evan eventually. They'd bought time with their ruse, but recently Harry's thoughts had always returned to the fact that Price very nearly destroyed two reputations at a whim. It wasn't really something he could let stand, no matter Price’s reasoning.

“Peeves will be Peeves,” Harry agreed. “Unless he's about to cause actual harm, we mostly just let him. Keeps the kids on their toes.”

Draco heaped more food from the platter onto Harry's plate. He must have come here straight from work. “Pretty much how it was like during our school years then, if I remember correctly.”

Harry grinned. “Yup.”

Draco dropped the spoon, giving Harry an exasperated look. “Yup? Honestly, Potter. Your vocabulary is decreasing by the day. If you keep this up, you'll be communicating in nothing but grunts and gesticulations soon.”

“It's a distinct possibility,” Harry mused, the grin just widening.

For a while, he watched Draco eat while enjoying Gabby's deep rumbles. This wasn't at all as awkward as he'd feared, mainly because his attention was mostly taken up by Malfoy.

"It's not as bad as I remember,” Draco said, apropos of nothing. He leaned back and pressed a serviette to the corner of his mouth. “I thought my last year here would haunt me, but it doesn't. It feels different, being here as an adult. Sort of… nice."

Harry nodded, understanding the sentiment. He felt an odd urge to share. "I know what you mean. I sometimes wonder how it will be five, ten, thirty years from now. When everyone's settled down, started families, and I'm still here, teaching their kids and heading out every few days to find some excitement."

Draco gave him a curious look. "Feeling trapped, Potter?"

"Sometimes," Harry admitted quietly. Gabby purred louder.

“You can quit, you know? No one is forcing you to be a professor.”

But he couldn't, could he? The episode at the Burrow over Christmas still haunted him. That had been less than three weeks away from Hogwarts. Enough time to build up enough magic in him to cause his brakes to malfunction.

Harry pushed those thoughts away and retrieved the parchment he'd prepared for Draco. “As I told you, I wasn't allowed copies, so these might be mixed up or flat out wrong, but I thought you might want to take a look."

Draco nodded, placing down the spoon before he opened the parchment, his eyes scanning the contents with interest. As he did, Gabby decided to jump from Harry's lap. She sniffed Draco's pant leg, then rubbed her chin against it.

“Control your cat, Potter.”

“Hush. She's warming up to you, look.”

They both looked. Gabby stared back at them. And then, slowly, she leaned in an bit Draco's ankle.

“Ow!”

Harry pulled her back, grinning. “Oh, come on, you big baby. That was a love bite.”

Draco glared at him.

Gabby huffed.

“Look, now you've offended her.”

“I offended –” Draco broke off indignantly. “You're a fucking nutcase, Potter!”

Harry laughed, covertly shushing Draco, trying to remind him they had a story to sell.

Draco was having none of it. He crossed his leg over the other, angling it as far away as possible. His trousers rode up just enough to reveal a bony ankle, pale against his dark sock, looking both aristocratic and oddly vulnerable. It had little red marks where Gabby had nipped him and Harry found it difficult to look away.

Oblivious, Draco’s attention was on the document, periodically slanting his eyes to make sure Harry still kept a hold of Gabby.

"What's the latest on the investigation?" Draco asked, scanning the parchment.

Harry sighed. "They're focusing on potions, interviewing Potion Masters."

Both of Draco’s eyebrows rose. “No shit? Why?”

“They don’t have anything better to go on.”

Draco snorted. “That sounds about… wait. I know this name. I interviewed, yes, Michael Clearwater. He was there the night of the blackout in Diagon Alley.”

Harry remembered. The man had nearly broken his spell and later, hadn’t been able to create so much as sparks from his wand. “His home was in the building with the expansion charms. It was completely obliterated.”

“If I’ve interviewed him before, I’ll be able to do so again without raising suspicion.” Draco fell silent again until he’d reached the end of the list of names. He looked up. “Potion Masters? Really?” Harry nodded and Draco lowered his voice. “We know the runes act as activation energy. If the Aurors are focusing on potions, they're barking up the wrong tree, runes and potions don’t mix.. They should be looking at dark artefacts, at complicated incantations. Not at potions.”

"Then that's where we need to direct them. We can't let them waste any more time. People are getting restless, the Ministry has even issued a statement, especially warning everyone to stay away from the blackouts.” Harry had read it on the back of another teacher's paper this morning, still refusing to renew his subscription.

It had been the main story several days in a row the last week, ending with the Ministry urging the public to stay clear, as it could not be guaranteed any loss of magic wouldn't be permanent. Naturally, that got the magical community buzzing.

Draco leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Agreed. But we need to be careful. If we push too hard, in the worst case, suspicion will fall on us."

"Nah. If it does, then I’ll smooth it over with Fairweather. The runes were right there for everyone to see, after all."

Draco chuckled. "Yeah, after you obliterated an elemental ward, Potter. With your blood."

Harry shrugged. "That’s how to break them."

“Yes. Over several days,” Draco muttered before pocketing the parchment. “Well, the Aurors might have nothing to go on, but neither do we. I’ll speak to Clearwater again, maybe that’ll get us somewhere.”

“Oh!” Harry said, jostling Gabby who looked none too pleased. “There were feathers. I pocketed one, it’s with Millicent. I completely forgot. Gabby here thought it was a toy for her.”

Draco looked at him dubiously. “You stole from the evidence room?” he asked quietly. “Are you insane?”

“What. I checked the inventory. It said ‘bag of feathers’. The bag is still there, I’m not a complete idiot.”

Draco snorted. “The Wizengamot is still out on that one, Potter.”

###

Snow turned into sludge outside, Harry’s workload seemed to have quadrupled and to top it all off, Millicent had come down with a horrible version of Niffler’s flu, which gave her a mild fever and a rather large obsession with hoarding shiny objects. While she was confined to her hut with Pomfrey coming by twice a day, Harry had to chip in to take over her classes.

By the end of February Harry was exhausted, afflicted with the common flu and a bad case of feeling stuck in life. To top it all off, the weather was so bad, he couldn't even go for his weekly flying exercise, which left him with something bubbling under his skin, something that drove him to take stupid risks and earned him another reprimand from McGonagall about proper – and safe – classroom etiquette.

He sat back in his chair, the door to his small teacher's room clicking shut.

It was a cosy space just off his Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, filled with bookshelves lined with spare textbooks, a cluttered desk perpetually buried in parchment, and a few comfortable chairs for students during his open hours. The latest student had just left after a long discussion about shield charms, and Harry could still hear the echo of Carmichael’s eager questions as he leaned back, taking a brief moment to gather his thoughts before diving into the inevitable pile of grading.

Harry rubbed his temples before letting his hands fall onto his desk listlessly. For several long moments he stared at the twisting marks of the Unbreakable Vows on his wrist, most concerning the war, though not quite all.

He was pulled from his reverie by a small knock and the door creaking open again. Harry looked up to see Ava stepping inside, her face a mix of excitement and nerves. She held a letter clutched tightly in her hand.

“Ava,” he greeted her with a nod, setting his quill aside. His tone was nasal, but that couldn't be helped. At least he wasn't coughing any longer. “Let me guess – it’s official?”

She nodded, stepping further into the room and holding out the parchment. "It is. I can’t actually believe it, Professor. They want me to join the team right after graduation."

Harry took the letter, scanning it briefly even though he already knew what it would say. He handed it back with a genuine smile. "Congratulations, Ava. I knew this would work out for you."

Ava let out a small, relieved laugh. “Yeah, it’s just... it's all so real now. I’ve been dreaming about this for so long, and now it’s here.”

Gabby, the size of a medium sized dog these days, had been napping on a nearby chair. She lifted her head, her amber eyes fixed on Ava as she spoke. The magical cat stretched leisurely before hopping down and padding over to Ava, rubbing against her legs as if sensing the whirlwind of emotions running through her.

"You've earned this, Ava," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. Urgh, he needed to blow his nose. "The Wasps saw the same talent in you that we've all seen here at Hogwarts. Just remember, your N.E.W.T.s are still important. Don’t let them slip through the cracks in all the excitement."

Ava nodded, her expression a mix of determination and gratitude. “I won’t, Professor.”

Harry watched as Ava glanced around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings, perhaps for one of the last times as a student. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft. “For everything. You’ve been there for me when I needed it most, and I’ll never forget that.”

Harry felt a swell of pride as he looked at her. “That’s what I’m here for, Ava. And remember, just because you’re moving on, doesn’t mean you can’t reach out if you need anything. You’ll always be welcome here.”

Ava smiled, a mixture of joy and calm seeming to settle over her. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Professor Potter!”

As she turned to leave, Gabby trotted after her, probably determined to see her safely to her common room. Harry watched them go, a smile playing on his lips as he leaned back in his chair once more. The pile of essays was still there, waiting patiently, but for now, Harry let himself savour the small victories – the moments where he could see his students stepping confidently into their futures wasn’t something he’d expected would fill him with pride, but he had been wrong.

The moment was only slightly marred by his leaky nose, but things were rarely perfect, were they?

And it wasn’t every student, of course. But the few and far between that exceeded his expectations – those left a mark.

Harry smiled, reaching for the topmost essay. And in the top drawer of his desk, lay an invitation of his own. He had been cordially invited to a luncheon at Malfoy Manor in a few weeks, courtesy of the hostess, Narcissa Malfoy.

He told himself the invitation was no different from any other social affair, yet there it was – a faint thrill running under his skin at the thought of seeing Draco in a setting entirely his own.

Harry looked back at the remaining essays. Suddenly, the mountain didn't seem quite as daunting.

Chapter Text

They were having an unnaturally warm spring this year, April allowing them to spend time outside even this far north. On a particularly sunny day, Harry Apparated just outside of Malfoy Manor, the sprawling estate as imposing as ever.

It was odd coming back here of his own free will, a curious mix of apprehension and curiosity coursing through him. The last time, the place had been an intimidating array of cold stone and shrouded conspiracies. Memories of dark times flooded back, and he wondered if it was the horrible things that had occurred here that marred his feelings now, or if it was the estate itself.

As he approached, the old wrought-iron gates stood wide open as if in greeting. While they seemed to invite him in, it only managed to tighten the knot of tension in his stomach.

Harry took a deep breath. No way out but through. And hadn't he been complaining how bored he'd been the last few weeks, with nothing to break the monotony of teaching, grading, eating, sleeping?

As he began to walk up the path, his apprehension rose. The gravel crunched underfoot. He couldn't help but recall past encounters filled with dread. However, as he progressed, he started to notice the changes one by one. The meticulously trimmed hedges and ancient yew trees had given way to a charming, untamed garden. Bright red poppies, vivid blue cornflowers, cheerful yellow daffodils, and delicate white daisies dotted the landscape, their colours creating a vibrant image. This impressive display had to involve magic for them to bloom this early.

The colourful flowerbeds lining the path were nothing like the dark, oppressive atmosphere he remembered, and a small part of his tension began to ease.

The long driveway wound through the gardens until the Manor itself came into view. Harry stared at it, wondering if he'd walked up the wrong driveway. The dark, foreboding stone had been replaced with pale, white-golden bricks that seemed to glow in the afternoon sun. The towering turrets were gone, giving way to a sophisticated two-storey mansion with large, welcoming windows that glinted in the sunlight. Ivy still clung to the walls, but it lacked the sinister look he remembered; instead, it was lush and green, adding a touch of natural beauty to the clean façade.

As Harry walked further, the sound of birds chirping in the trees caught his attention. This wasn't at all what he remembered, he realised as the gentle rustle of leaves began to replace his concern with a sense of calm. It was peaceful here, a far cry from the cold, silent grandeur of the past. He reached the front door, standing in a completely different place than he remembered.

They must have knocked the whole thing down and built something new.

The double doors were painted a soft shade of blue. Harry hesitated for a moment before knocking. His mind wrestled with the dark memories of this place, clashing violently with the visible changes. It was still an opulent home, no doubt about that, but instead of a Manor straight out of a gothic novel, this was a place of light and comfort he'd expect a Disney princess to inhabit. Or, it seemed, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy.

The door opened, and to Harry's utter relief, Draco stood in the doorway, looking like the Lord of the Manor about to host a luncheon, with an honest to Merlin white cable knit sweater vest and beige tapered tweed trousers.

“Deciding if you're going to turn around and run?” There was something in Draco's tone, a fragile sound that all the bluster in the world couldn't hide.

“No,” Harry said, truthfully. “Just marvelling at the changes.” And intrigued by what you're wearing, he didn't add.

Draco looked around, a frown creasing his brow. “Oh, that! Mother changed it nearly ten years ago. I don't even see it anymore.”

Harry laughed. “You should’ve lead with it. I certainly had no idea, and it makes coming back here a lot easier.”

Draco smiled with genuine warmth as he beckoned Harry inside. "I’ll try to do that. Please, come in."

Harry stepped over the threshold into a bright, airy foyer. The grand marble staircase he remembered was replaced by a more elegant, sweeping staircase of polished light wood leading to the second floor. Sunlight streamed in through large windows, illuminating the open-plan living area he saw stretching out behind the entrance.

"It's hard to believe this is the same place," Harry remarked, glancing around.

Draco chuckled softly. "That’s because it isn’t. After Father's death, my mother needed a distraction. She had a vision for something lighter, more inviting."

As he took it all in, Harry felt a sense of disbelief. The transformation was astounding. "It’s lovely."

Draco nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Thank you. Want to see more?”

Harry nodded and they moved through the ground floor, one comfortable waiting room giving way to an elegantly furnished drawing room. And not one, but two smaller parlours, one clearly decorated to fit Draco's current occupation, including a huge ornate desk, an antique Muggle typewriter and a standing globe on an intricate cherry wood structure.

There were two living rooms, the one Harry had seen from the foyer to entertain guests and a second, smaller one, that Draco led him down a wide and airy hallway to. The spacious room doubled as the library, with winged doors that opened onto a large patio. In the centre of the room towered a round fireplace, set into the ground, with seating benches all around. Guests would step down into the area, creating a cosy atmosphere.

Shelves filled with books and art lined the walls. The heavy velvet drapes Harry remembered from his previous visit to Malfoy Manor were replaced by light, airy curtains that fluttered in the springtime breeze from the open windows.

He could see Draco here, with his sleeves rolled up and a glass of Chardonnay in one hand, the other holding an old book.

They continued on, the scent of freshly baked bread filling the air as they passed a huge kitchen, three house elves adding to the already substantial amount of food on platters, waiting to be served under their stasis charm.

More rooms followed; a pantry bigger than the kitchen itself, a butler's pantry filled with all the silverware three households couldn't use in a lifetime, several storage rooms and then an entire wing of servants quarters, which Draco merely pointed out before leading them back to the foyer.

“Bedrooms are upstairs, as well as another drawing room for my mother, for when she can't make it downstairs, a games room and a nursery, though I think Mother has finally accepted it will only be used by extended family.”

“There is always adoption,” a cultured, graceful voice said from behind them.

Harry spun around, nearly gasping out loud when he saw Narcissa Malfoy. She was still effortlessly elegant, but seated in a wheelchair that hovered just above the ground. A house-elf in a bright yellow sundress stood discreetly behind her. The sight came as a complete shock and with no forewarning.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry managed, his voice tinged with surprise and concern. “What happened?”

"Harry," Narcissa replied warmly, ignoring the question. "Welcome to our home. I can call you Harry, can't I?”

“Yes,” Harry stammered. “Yes, of course. No problem.”

With a gentle swish of her wand, she set the wheelchair into motion, floating closer. The elf behind her followed, silent like a shadow.

She placed her wand in a little holster by the armrest and held out her hand. Harry shot a quick glance at Draco, who, while watching in interest, was no help on how to proceed.

Harry took a covert breath and reached out his hand. Narcissa Malfoy's fingers felt fragile in his own, but her grip was firm as they shook.

She wore a light blouse with gauzy sleeves, the right one sliding back to reveal one thick rope imprint from an active Unbreakable Vow as well as two faded ones, the people they were made with dead, but the promises themselves still active. It was nothing to the nearly dozen bands Harry had around his wrist, but these days, fewer and fewer people had them, so it was always intriguing to see someone else displaying them.

“I must confess,” Narcissa said in her deep and elegant voice, “that up until now I hadn't quite known what to think of the Prophet’s claim. The possibility that the articles about you and my son were a complete fabrication had been a strong contender. And yet, here you are.”

“Here I am,” Harry agreed, sliding another look in Draco's direction.

Draco’s fingers played absently with a silver signet ring on his right hand, his expression a neutral mask.

She’d spoken of the Prophet's claim, not her son's. Surely, they had talked about it?

“Should I feel insulted, Mother? Or Harry? It's hard to tell.”

She magically turned her chair to face Draco. “No need to get dramatic, darling. You have to admit, the idea of you two is rather… unique.”

Draco inclined his head to her. “I hadn't been aware of how close I'd gotten to being committed to the Janus Thickey Ward. Dodged a hex there, I gather.”

“Oh, don't be silly, dear. You know that's not how this family deals with insanity. You'd have simply been sent to the other country estate, like uncle Vic when you were younger, remember him?”

“We don't call it that anymore,” Draco said in a voice that implied it wasn't for the first time. “The acceptable term is ‘mental health condition’.”

Narcissa waved him off. “Oh, he was mental, all right. Absolutely convinced he could fly. Broke over twenty bones when he jumped from the east tower. His magic saved him.” She wrinkled her delicate nose. “Well, mostly.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, not entirely sure how to navigate the conversation between Draco and his mother. Despite the slight argumentative edge to their conversation, there was an undercurrent of deep appreciation and familial love he knew so well from his trips to the Burrow. Only, these two were basically trying to out-enunciate each other, and he didn't quite know how to categorise that.

"The renovations are beautiful," Harry said, in an attempt of steering the conversation into safer waters. "I was pleasantly surprised."

Narcissa gave him a measured smile, but there was a knowing glint in her eye. "Thank you, Harry. It was quite the project, but well worth it. I believe a home should reflect the people who live in it, don't you?"

"Absolutely," Harry agreed, though he wasn't entirely sure he’d ever thought of it like that before.

"Speaking of reflection," Draco said, taking the opportunity to step in, "Mother, I was about to take Harry to see the back garden. Would you like to join us?"

"Of course," Narcissa replied, her voice laced with the kind of imperiousness that suggested it was less of a coincidence and more about keeping an eye on them. “The rest of the guests should arrive soon. Sunny, send someone to the front door to direct them to the garden.”

Sunny nodded. Harry expected the house-elf to quietly pop out of existence and return with the job done, but she remained at her station, just behind Narcissa's chair.

As Draco stepped forward to lead the way, Harry instinctively reached for the handles of Narcissa's wheelchair to help. The moment he started to push, Narcissa slammed down the breaks.

"Harry," she said, her tone cool but not unkind, "please, never grab the handles of a wheelchair, mine or someone else's, unless asked. We can manage ourselves."

Harry withdrew his hands quickly, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"

"I know you meant well," Narcissa interrupted, her voice softening slightly. "But it's important to allow people their independence, even if they seem in need of help."

"Right, of course," Harry mumbled, feeling like an idiot. Draco shot him a glance that was somewhere between amusement and exasperation, but said nothing as they made their way along another corridor.

The tension from the moment began to fade as they stepped through the tall French doors that opened onto the back garden. The transformation here was just as stunning as inside the Manor.

In contrast to the wilder looking greenery Harry had seen walking up to the mansion, this garden was perfectly manicured, with lush green lawns stretching out towards a serene lily pond with a shimmering fountain at the far end.

Trimmed hedges bordered the area, the more unruly yet still aesthetically pleasing growths just beyond. A symphony of flowers in full bloom surrounded them here as well, arranged in perfect visual harmony. Several butterflies fluttered between them, giving the whole setting an alive feeling.

A long table was set up under a pergola draped with wisteria, its blossoms hanging like delicate chandeliers. The table was adorned with a pristine white cloth, ready to receive the food from the kitchen. The centrepiece consisted of a lavish arrangement of fresh flowers, repeating the colours of the garden.

Several gravel paths led off the well kept area, disappearing into the taller shrubbery and out of sight. Little signs were helpfully set up, one pointing towards the restrooms, one had a fish with the distinct markings of a koi on it, yet another depicted a little gazebo.

The first guest started arriving soon after he’d gotten a quick tour. Harry noticed that each time, Sunny would lean to Narcissa and quietly convey something to her. Mrs. Malfoy would turn towards the path leading around the house and await the guests, led by another house-elf. Each new arrival was greeted by Narcissa with poise and indisputable charm. Despite her wheelchair, she was still every inch the lady of the house.

If he'd ever thought about it – and he hadn't – this was exactly how he'd imagined she would be. Without the wheelchair, which he was still wondering about. He’d have to ask Draco the next free moment they had.

To Harry’s utter surprise, Draco moved amongst the guests with an ease he hadn’t expected. He knew Draco would lay on the charm for a good story, but in his mind, he’d just seen the snobby, sometimes surly teenager interact with guests. And in recent years, he'd begun to think of Draco as more of a solitary figure, friendly with everyone, but close to no one, yet here he was, perfectly at home in the role of gracious host. He exchanged pleasantries, made introductions, and ensured that everyone had what they needed, all while keeping an eye on his mother, checking in on her regularly.

And what was more, Draco caught his eye from across the garden with surprising regularity, too. Apparently, his mother wasn't the only one he liked to check up on.

Harry held a couple of short, polite conversations with people he barely knew, but his heart wasn't in it. Small talk, what a weird concept. And certainly taken to an art form by the British. Harry was bored out of his skull in no time.

Harry’s attention drifted from the conversation, his focus drawn to the way Draco’s posture shifted depending on who he spoke to, his sharp gaze flicking over the guests in discreet assessment. There was a thrill in this, not from the mundanity around him, but from seeing the way Draco moved within it, owning the space like he was born to it.

Their eyes connected and after one long moment, Draco extricated himself from a conversation with an elderly wizard who'd been hogging his attention for a good fifteen minutes. He strode over slowly, leisurely, but with his gaze never faltering.

"Everything alright?" Draco asked casually, coming to stand beside Harry.

Harry nodded, glancing at the guests milling about the garden. "Yeah, it's just... different, seeing you like this."

"Me? Like what?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Like you actually enjoy this sort of thing," Harry replied with a small smile. "Hosting, socialising... it's not how I imagined you today."

Draco shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "That's because I do enjoy it. And it brings a smile to my mother's face. What's not to love?”

Harry shrugged. “I usually attend as few of these gatherings as possible. And the ones I can't back out of I am the first one to leave.”

“Ah. But you get invited. You never play the host.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “I'm missing the key ingredient: a place. I mean I have Grimmauld, but that's – well frankly I can't think of any place worse for a party. And the idea of me hosting something like this – it's ridiculous.”

“People change, Potter. And sometimes, we do what’s necessary. Mother has always enjoyed these gatherings, and it’s important to keep up appearances for a family like ours. Not everything in life is about what we want to do; sometimes it’s about what we have to do. And then, if we keep at it, it becomes easier and easier, the familiarity of it making it enjoyable."

Harry considered that, nodding slowly. "I suppose you're right."

"Don't sound so surprised," Draco said, a hint of something flashing in his eyes. Maybe a hint of the younger, more emotional Draco. "How about a trip to our gazebo? It has a wonderful privacy charm over it and there's something I want to discuss with you."

For some reason, that made Harry's mind flash back to the snog they'd had under that street lamp. It wasn't the first time since it happened, but he mentally shook his head and blamed his extended dry spell.

"Lead the way," Harry said, curious now. And honestly anything would be more interesting than another discussion about the weather, or another thinly veiled question if he was here as Draco's personal friend.

Draco nodded and turned towards the path with the corresponding signpost of a gazebo, leading away from the main garden. They walked in companionable silence, the noise of the gathering fading behind them. The path wound through a more secluded part of the garden, the hedges growing taller and the flowers more untamed, as if they’d stepped into another world entirely.

After a few minutes, they reached a small, white-painted gazebo nestled amongst the trees. It was an elegant structure, perfectly round and two steps above ground, with delicate woodwork and a sloping roof, draped in ivy and yet more wisteria. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, and the sound of birdsong filled the air.

Draco gestured for Harry to take a seat on one of the cushioned benches. "We can talk freely here. The privacy screen is quite strong, no sound can be overheard."

Harry sat down, feeling the weight of the party slide off his shoulders. He hadn’t realised it back then, but he’d tensed up, his shoulders stiff, expecting someone to come up to him at any moment and – what? Tell him he was Harry Potter and could they have a photograph? Ask him about his relationship with the man of the Manor? He wasn't quite sure.

Draco sat opposite, his expression more solemn now. He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself. "I’m planning another article on the blackouts, focussing on the effects they cause. I’ve held several interviews with store owners in Diagon Alley, and they’ve all said the same thing: after a few days, the ambient magic returned all by itself.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” Harry asked, wondering about the serious look on Draco’s face.

“I’ve also gotten that second interview with Michael Clearwater.”

“The guy from the list of names I remembered from the files.”

“Yes, well. Michael Clearwater mentioned you several times. You checked his wand and determined it functioned normally, then called in a Mediwizard?”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I mean yes, that happened. I didn’t think it would warrant a mention of my name.”

Draco sighed deeply, running his hand through his soft-looking hair and looking off into the distance. “Honestly, Potter, you really are an idiot sometimes. Of course people will mention it when The Harry Potter takes care of them while they are in distress. It makes them feel important.”

Harry, who felt a familiar feeling of discomfort settle in his stomach, tried to urge the conversation on. “What else did he say?”

“About you? Nothing much.” Draco paused, his eyes drifting to a pair of birds chasing each other through the trees. “He did confide in me, that since he’d come into contact with that spreading darkness, he hasn’t been able to perform magic.”

“None at all?”

Draco shook his head. “Nothing. Not even instinctual reactions. Worse than a Squib. A Muggle, really.”

Harry chewed his lip. He too was gazing out at the garden now, though he wasn’t really seeing anything. “And they can’t help him? They must at least have a clue what’s happening to him.”

“According to him, every medical personnel he’s spoken to is baffled, though of course they don’t let on. They feed him platitudes, and he buys into them.”

“Because the alternative is too dark to consider.”

Draco nodded. “Exactly.”

They fell silent, Harry mentally churning through the implications and Draco, presumably having already had enough time to do so, giving Harry a chance to catch up.

Eventually, Harry shifted in his seat, focussing back on Draco. “Are they planning to keep him in St. Mungos?”

“For now, yes. His home is still so much rubble, though they are in the midst of rebuilding it. At least they can monitor him there.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, but he barely noticed it at all. He just couldn’t shake the idea of waking up one morning, and having no magic at all. He wouldn’t be able to keep teaching at Hogwarts, and he wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to enter Grimmauld Place, considering it was still hidden. He’d probably have to return to being a Muggle, only venturing into the magical world when visiting his friends. It seemed a dull existence, but it also held small pieces that sparked his interest.

People would quickly lose interest in him, if he was no longer a wizard, wouldn’t they? And, more importantly, the growing dependency he felt on Hogwarts to level his magic, that would be gone, too, wouldn’t it? This might have started as ramblings of a bored Dumbledore, who had settled into Hogwarts in his thirties, but the more Harry read up on the subject – and he had followed every crumb to books and scrolls Dumbledore had mentioned in his writings – the more he could see the parallels to what he was currently experiencing.

Without any magic, he’d no longer be bound to one place. He'd be able to travel again, extensively, not just a two week trip that ended with his magic doing something he hadn't asked it to.

“The Aurors know about it, too,” Draco said, interrupting his reverie. “He told me they check in on him regularly. That's why they released the decree; they can't afford more people turning into Muggles. Especially if they don't know if it's permanent.”

Harry pressed his lips together. “Fairweather called me in last week. To update me on the progress the Aurors have made, which isn't much. Mostly, they've dropped the line of inquiry regarding Potion Masters,” Harry admitted. “Not a peep about the possibly permanent loss of magic.”

They might need him for certain things, but situations like this really drove home that he wasn't a true Auror.

Draco actually laughed, though it wasn't filled with humour. “Of course you got invited. It must be nice to be Harry Potter with an all-access pass.”

“It wasn't like that,” Harry mumbled, knowing full well it had been exactly like that. “And life doesn't get easier just because you supposedly get access to everything. Which I really don't.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Potter. Now come on, don't make me use Legilimency on you, spit it out. What else did you learn?”

“Honestly? Pretty much nothing. I have a list of where this has happened before, three times in total. Each time, the effects got more extreme. The first time wasn't even in England.”

“So if it's some sort of artefact, or an animal or even a spell, then they're getting better at it? Stronger?”

Harry nodded. “That's what the Aurors think, at least judging by what they were investigating. Apparently, they got onto Potion Masters because they found some items which are actually rare potion ingredients, such as for the Wolfsbane Potion or Felix Felicis.”

Draco’s thumb brushed along the edge of his jaw as he listened, a gesture so casual yet meticulous that Harry couldn’t tear his gaze away. At Harry's words, he perked up. “What type of items?”

Harry closed his eyes, trying to remember. He started with the ones he couldn't forget if he tried, “Several fluids, though most have yet to be identified, but might include magical venom, urine and saliva. Human hair and unidentified fur. Shards of clay, glass and at one scene mirror glass. Lots of other things, I only really paid attention to the ones that occurred at at least two crime scenes. Oh, and the feathers. They looked odd, but Millicent said it was basically impossible to narrow it down to a species”

“Odd how?”

Harry thought back to the feather he'd taken, the one still in his rooms at Hogwarts now. “Fluffy, almost like tufts of fur on a stick. Downy, I guess? I don't know, I'm not well versed in bird plumage.”

“My, my. Have we found something the Saviour of the Wizarding World isn't good at?”

Harry shoved Draco's shoulder, but they were both smiling. “Shut up, arsehole. What the hell do you know about feathers?”

Draco shrugged. “I don't. I know people who do.”

“Yeah, well, so do I. Millicent confirmed it's a dead end.”

They sat for a long moment, both deep in thought. “You said the first blackout occurred outside of the UK?”

Harry nodded. “Somewhere in Switzerland, deep in the mountains there. No one would have ever found it, if it hadn't been for some hikers.”

“Hmm. Doesn't that sound suspicious to you? Some witches and wizards just happened to come by a blackout in the middle of nowhere?”

Harry honestly hadn't given it much thought. “I guess it's odd, yeah.”

“Do you know the exact location?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “But I can find that out.”

Draco nodded. “I think we need to take a trip to Switzerland.”

Harry laughed. “We do?”

“Yes. I’ve been working as a journalist for ten years now. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that if people I'm interviewing are vague about something, it's because it's the most important part of the story.”

Harry shrugged. “I'm up for it. And I think Fairweather might even organise a Portkey for us. If I ask nicely and promise her a detailed report.”

Draco threw his head back and laughed. “Okay. Want to tell me again how being Harry Potter doesn't open doors?”

Harry ignored him. “When? This weekend?’

Draco shook his head. “I have a prior engagement, make it the next one. But I can come by for lunch tomorrow. Just to keep reminding people we're dating, I mean.”

Harry nodded. “Okay, that'll be good.”

They decided to return to the party soon after as the conversation naturally wound down. Harry rose first, stretching slightly, and Draco followed suit, his expression back to that of composed host rather than showing interest in the captivating conversation of moments before. Harry’s eyes lingered on him, on the long line of his back, feeling a spark of satisfying energy. Being here, being part of Draco’s intricate, guarded life, was somehow exhilarating, leaving him wanting to linger, to experience more of it.

As they made their way back along the gravel path towards the garden, the sounds of the party gradually grew louder again. Harry noticed Draco subtly adjusting his posture, his demeanour changing, becoming more distant and yet less turned inwards.

They rounded the last bend and stepped back into the garden, where guests were still mingling, the soft murmur of conversation punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter.

Narcissa Malfoy was seated near the pergola, her eyes catching the movement as they approached.

“Anything I can do for you?” Draco asked her the moment they were close enough.

She smiled slightly and shook her head. "No darling, thank you. Though let me tell you: I'm glad you've worked out your differences. You two do make a striking couple.”

Harry blinked, caught utterly off guard by the statement. Especially coming from her.

Draco's lips curved into a small smile. "Thank you, Mother," Draco replied easily, like he genuinely meant it. Like he agreed with her.

Harry felt a warmth creep up his neck, but he managed to return Narcissa's smile with a nod. He wasn't entirely sure how to interpret her words and he ultimately decided to let it go. If she believed them, it boded well for their plan to succeed.

“Have you met the Vicar?” Narcissa asked.

Harry hadn't, and so that oversight got remedied immediately.

Chapter Text

The Portkey Fairweather arranged for them deposited Harry and Draco in a remote alpine village with a name Harry couldn't even attempt to pronounce. From there, they painstakingly retraced the trail based on scattered reports, their progress stalling as the locals denied any knowledge of the cave they sought. It wasn’t until they stopped at a small, dimly lit pub that luck turned in their favour. While making inquiries, Draco’s Legilimency inadvertently latched onto a stray thought – the exact location of the cave, hidden within the mind of someone adamantly feigning ignorance.

The allure of the answers the cave held pulled at Harry, the temptation to rush forward on impulse familiar and strong. But Draco’s steady tone and his quiet demeanour, held him in check. The thrill Harry usually craved was replaced by something different – an instinctive need to ensure Draco’s safety, to take each step with caution, because for once, someone else mattered more than the risk.

The moment they stepped into the cave, Harry felt it. A rush of something intangible, humming just beneath the surface, buzzing along his skin like a jolt of pure energy. The air here wasn’t just thick and damp; it was alive. Magic pulsed in the stones, the walls, even in the faint wisps of moisture that hung in the air. It was as if the entire tunnel thrummed with some deep, unseen current, and the sensation filled him with a strange, inexplicable excitement.

His heart raced, not from fear or anticipation, but from something else. The magic here was different – vibrant, almost playful – and it seeped into his bones, leaving him light-headed, almost giddy. Every breath he took seemed to fill him with more of it, like an adrenaline rush, but instead of fight or flight, it was pure magic that coursed through him.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice tinged with awe as he cast his wandlight ahead. The shadows stretched further into the tunnel, but the magic thrummed all around them, close, almost intimate. “The magic here – it’s... I don’t know. Alive.”

Draco didn’t respond immediately, his gaze sweeping the tunnel cautiously, but Harry couldn’t stop smiling. It didn’t make sense. None of this did. And yet, the sensation felt too good to question. It was like he could reach out and touch the magic, feel it coursing just beyond the physical world, waiting to be tapped into.

“It feels odd,” Draco said, his face set in a firm mask. His skin was pale in the faint light, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Harry grinned, bumping his shoulder. “Hey, cheer up. This place is – ” he grappled for words, finally settling on a quiet, “full of love.”

That choked a laugh out of Draco, the pinched expression leaving his face. “You're fucking mental, anyone ever tell you that?”

Harry just grinned and shrugged. Draco hadn't managed to sound properly pissed off, more resigned, maybe even charmed by Harry's antics. He gave Draco a wide smile and pointed further into the mountain.

“Shall we?”

“You lead the way,” Draco said magnanimously. “If a rock falls on your head, no one will be hurt.”

Harry started forward, laughing, filled to the very brim with happiness. “Are you calling me thick-headed?”

“Not outright, no.”

Harry couldn't suppress the giggle. “Ah. Back at it, Mr. Wordsmith?”

He turned just in time to see Draco hide an expression of appreciation. “Watch where you're going, knucklehead.”

Harry was just about to complain that a return compliment would have been appreciated, when the ground under his feet changed.

He took two quick steps back, pushing Draco out of harm's way, too.

Ahead of them, small rocks hovered just above the tunnel floor, suspended mid-air in defiance of gravity. Larger boulders, too, drifted in place, held by some invisible current of magic that warped the very air around them. The edges of Harry’s vision shimmered slightly, as if space itself were bending and twisting under the weight of whatever magic lingered here.

“What is that?” Draco asked, his breath tickling Harry's ear.

Harry stared, another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s magic. Raw magic. The kind that doesn’t feel like it belongs to anything.”

He reached out instinctively, his hand moving toward one of the floating stones, but as his fingers neared it, the air crackled. A faint shimmer rippled through the space around the stone, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His pulse quickened. He pulled back, his skin tingling from the strange energy.

“Look at this,” Harry said, his eyes wide. “It’s like the air is – no, the magic is all over the place, just – You can’t feel that?”

Draco shot him a glance, his expression unreadable. “No. It just feels weird. Can we keep moving? I don't find this half as fun as you seem to,” he said, voice steady, but tinged with caution.

Harry blinked, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, casting one last glance at the shimmering, distorted air around the rocks before focusing on the path ahead.

The tunnel grew noticeably colder as they pressed on, the damp seeping into their clothes and skin. No sunlight remained this deep inside the mountain, only their wands casting beams of light against the stone walls, glistening damp with water and covered in faintly glowing luminescent moss.

The usual pulse of excitement flickered through Harry’s veins, a steady build ever since entering this cave. His attention, on the other hand, kept straying to Draco – how he moved cautiously, the faint crease of concentration in his brow. Harry felt a quiet excitement of simply working alongside Draco, each of them attuned to the other.

Each step grew more difficult, the ground beneath their feet turning slick with moisture. Harry's wand light danced ahead, illuminating the uneven tunnel floor, seemingly endless.

Then, almost without warning, the ground beneath them shifted again. A low rumble echoed through the tunnel, followed by a shudder beneath their feet. Harry stopped, instinctively reaching out to steady himself against the wall, but the rocks gave way, sliding down with a harsh scrape of stone against stone.

"Watch it!" Draco’s voice came from behind, but Harry was already moving, his eyes darting upward as the ceiling above them cracked and groaned.

A section of the tunnel collapsed with a roar, sending boulders and debris tumbling down in their direction. Harry reacted instinctively, raising his hand and casting a quick spell, his magic cutting through the chaos.

It must have been Protego, because a shimmering barrier formed just in time, the rocks crashing against it with a force that rattled his bones. The weight of the debris pressed against the shield, and Harry felt the strain immediately. His muscles tensed as he held the spell, sweat beading on his forehead.

Draco moved beside him, casting his own spell, pulling up rocks to act as support. The tunnel was noticeably narrower now, but they should be able to fit through on their way out. "This won't hold for long. The whole place is unstable."

“I agree.” He gently let go of his magic, stone groaning on stone. The ceiling settled, only a few smaller pieces raining onto the debris-strewn floor. “We'll have to hurry.”

“That was close,” Draco muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Harry nodded, throwing another stabilising charm at the makeshift support beam. “That should hold for a bit.”

He turned and promptly stumbled, his foot catching on a loose rock. Draco grabbed his arm, pulling him upright as they moved deeper into the tunnel, leaving the partially collapsed section behind them.

Draco released his arm and took a step back, his eyes scanning the walls. "That wasn’t just bad luck," he muttered, wiping a bit of dust from his robes. "This whole place is falling apart."

Harry swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah. We should keep moving. Fast."

As they continued on, the tunnel grew narrower, the air thicker with the smell of wet stone and something faintly metallic. It wasn't just chilly now, but bitterly cold, the air damp and icy, like it hadn't seen sunlight in centuries.

Harry adjusted his grip on his wand, his senses alert. The earlier rush of magic he had felt when they first entered the tunnel was a distant memory now, replaced by a growing tension that settled in his bones.

Something was waiting for them up ahead.

And by the feel of it, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

The tunnel seemed to constrict as they moved deeper, the walls narrowing until Harry had to turn sideways to avoid brushing against the slick, damp stone. Just when he thought there would be no way for them to continue, the tunnel widened again.

The rhythmic dripping of water from somewhere unseen became louder, the echo bouncing off the enclosed space and making the air feel even colder. The metallic tang that had been faint earlier was now stronger, sharp on his tongue with every breath.

Ahead, a dim glow appeared, and Harry tensed, his hand raised.

Draco noticed it too. He slowed his pace, eyes narrowing as the glow grew brighter. “That’s not torchlight,” he muttered, his voice low but tense. “I'm not picking up any stray thoughts; I don't think it's people.”

Harry nodded, his heart thudding in his chest. “No. It’s something else.”

They stepped cautiously toward the source of the light, and as they rounded a bend, Harry froze. The tunnel opened up into a wider chamber, and in the middle of it, several clusters of pale, glowing flowers stood tall, their long, slender petals curving upward like open hands. They were beautiful, the soft light they emitted casting strange shadows on the walls. But the air around them felt thick, almost heavy, and there was something about the scent drifting from the flowers that made Harry’s head swim. He knew that scent, but couldn't quite place it.

“They’re beautiful,” Harry whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. There was something soothing about the sight of the flowers, something that made his body want to relax, to let go. The sweet scent curled around him, inviting him closer. Honeysuckle, that's what the smell was. Laced with something fainter, more flowery. Jasmine, yes.

Draco’s hand shot out, pinching Harry's arm. Hard. “No,” he growled through gritted teeth, his voice harsh. “ Don't touch those.”

Harry blinked and he stepped back from the flowers. The smell – sweet and intoxicating – was pulling at him, pulling him in without him even realising it. His pulse quickened as he fought to clear his thoughts.

“They’re Lure Lilies,” Draco explained, his grip tightening on Harry’s arm. “One step too close and you’ll lose control. They’ll trap you. Ensnare you like prey. That's how they survive here.”

Harry swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “They trap people?”

Draco nodded, his eyes still fixed on the flowers. “They use their scent to draw people and animals in. It’s how they feed.”

Harry shuddered, the earlier sense of beauty vanishing as he took a step farther back. He could still feel the pull, that subtle urge to move closer, to breathe in more of that sweet, hypnotic scent. It took every ounce of willpower to keep himself in check.

“I'm usually good with mental stuff,” he muttered, slightly embarrassed he'd nearly fallen prey to these plants.

“It's not a mental attack, it's physiological. Their dried form is a main ingredient in Felix Felicis.”

“Oh.” That would explain the amazing smell. “How do we get past them, then?” Harry asked, keeping his voice low, though his eyes were still drawn to the soft, glowing petals. He wanted to inhale that scent, bury his nose in it.

“We go around,” Draco replied, his tone firm. “Quickly. And don’t breathe too deeply through your nose.”

They moved one behind the other, skirting the edge of the chamber as far from the lilies as they could manage. Harry kept his eyes trained on the flowers, breathing through his mouth, which quickly broke the pull they had on him.

When they finally cleared the room, Harry let out a shaky breath, his pulse still racing from the near-miss. He glanced at Draco, who nodded grimly.

“Close one,” Harry muttered. “Thanks.”

Draco gave a tight smile, but his eyes were sharp. “You're welcome.”

As they continued deeper into the tunnel, the faint scent of the lilies still lingering behind them, the atmosphere seemed to shift again. The tunnel widened slightly, but the air felt different now – empty. The magic that had thrummed so vividly before was fading, and with each step, Harry could feel it slipping away, as if the very life of the tunnel was being drained.

And then, from one step to the next, it was gone.

Harry stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. The magic – every trace of it – had vanished. It was like a cold emptiness had settled over them, leaving him disconnected, cut off from the invisible pulse that had filled the air before.

Draco noticed it too, frowning as he looked around. “What happened to the magic?”

Harry shook his head, his stomach sinking with an unsettling dread. “I don’t know,” he murmured, his voice hollow. “But it’s gone.”

“Is this how muggles feel all the time?” Draco asked in a hushed whisper.

“I suppose so,” Harry said and shuddered at the thought. The absence of magic was suffocating, like someone had drained all the colour out of the world and now expected everyone to be content to live in tones of gray.

Harry took a few steps forward, his wand casting a faint light, but it did little to chase away the thick, oppressive air that now filled the tunnel.

“My wand still works.”

“Good,” Draco said, relief evident in his tone. “That's good. Means whatever drained the magic is no longer active.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. This awareness of a lack of magic was similar to becoming aware of one's own mortality for the first time; unsettling, daunting and with a pinch of disbelieving helplessness.

The rush of energy he’d felt when they first entered, that intoxicating hum of life and power, was completely gone, leaving only a dull ache in his chest. This place felt dead, in as far as that state could be described to locations.

“This isn’t normal.”

Draco came up beside him, his expression hard. “I think this is what a magical blackout looks like when we don't have witches and wizards traipsing through the area all day, refilling it with magic. This is its true form.” He pointed at some dried husks. “Those used to be more Lure Lillies.”

Harry shuddered, though he still didn’t fully understand it. The emptiness that surrounded them felt so unnatural, like the very air had been stripped of life. His senses were on high alert, every nerve in his body tense, waiting for something – anything – to happen.

As they moved deeper, Harry began to notice the subtle changes in the tunnel walls. The stone here was smoother, more polished than the rough rock they had passed through earlier. It was as if something had been living here – something that had shaped its surroundings. His wandlight caught strange markings, faint scratches and grooves in the stone, like the remains of something having pushed through repeatedly.

“Look at this,” Harry said, raising his wand to illuminate the markings. “Do you think this is from a creature?”

Draco inspected the grooves, his brow furrowing. “Possibly,” he said, his voice guarded. “Whatever was in here was powerful. It left its mark.”

Harry stepped closer, tracing his hand along the smooth stone, trying to feel for any residual energy, anything that might give them a clue about what they were dealing with. But there was nothing. No hum, no pulse of life, no magic. Just cold stone and emptiness. Merlin, he hated this.

They continued on, the oppressive quiet bearing down on them, until the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern, a cul-de-sac and thereby the end of their journey.

Harry stopped at the threshold, his heart sinking as his wandlight flickered across the space.

There, in the middle of the cavern, were pieces of shell in what looked to be a massive bird’s nest made of twigs and twine.

Large, jagged pieces of what had once been a massive egg lay scattered across the destroyed nest and stone floor, their pale, iridescent surface catching the faint light.

Draco picked one up, shining the light of his wand over the piece.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the shattered remnant. “Is that…?”

Draco nodded, his thumb brushing over the surface. “One of the runes,” he murmured, more to himself than to Harry. “Etched into the shell. You were right, they were meant as a catalyst; to force this hatching.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his heart pounding as he knelt down beside Draco. He picked up another piece. The runes were faint, but unmistakable, etched into the shell’s surface in a complex pattern that spiralled out from the centre.

Draco’s fingers tightened on the shard in his hand. “Whoever placed these runes forced this to happen.”

Harry’s mind raced, trying to piece it all together. “So… this creature, whatever it is, didn’t hatch on its own?”

Draco shook his head. “No. It was forced out. Why, would be anyone's guess.”

Harry stood, his gaze sweeping the cavern. “And we're in the middle of a blackout.”

Draco picked up on his train of thought immediately. “They could have put the runes on after the blackout occurred. Maybe it needed help hatching after the loss of ambient magic.”

Harry held his gaze. “Only, you don't believe that.”

Draco sighed, rising from the floor in one smooth, controlled motion. “No, I don't. There's other sites with magical blackouts, but no runes. And why research the runes beforehand, then? That would imply they knew the blackout would happen and the animal would be in distress.”

Harry nodded. “It's more likely whatever hatched here feeds on magic.”

“Exactly,” Draco agreed, his face grim in the faint light of their wands.

Harry nodded towards a patch of fur, stuck between the twigs of the destroyed nest. “It feeds on magic, and small animals, it seems. Any ideas?”

“No. I think another trip to Millicent is needed. I'm not sure how well versed she is on obscure Central European magical birds, but it's worth a shot.”

Harry nodded his agreement. “We should take these with us,” he said, glancing at the shell in his hand. “One for Millicent, the rest for the Aurors. Fairweather will already kill me for tampering with her site. Might as well bring her a present to placate her.”

Draco nodded, already reaching for another shard of the shell.

“Now the jubilant magic you mentioned at the beginning makes sense, especially if the creature feeds on magic; that was the mother bird, wasn't it?”

Harry looked at him in surprise. He wouldn't have thought of it. But it made sense. “Seems so. Hopefully, more info for Millicent to go on.”

They carefully pocketed the various pieces, the weight of the situation sinking deeper into Harry’s bones. The creature had been forced out, and now it was somewhere out there, periodically draining magic from its surroundings. But why?

“We need to find out what bird this is. Then we'll know what to do about the blackouts.”

“And find out who put the runes on the shell.”

Harry clenched a fist. Bastards. “That, too.”

“That's the last of it. Let’s get out of here,” Draco muttered, standing beside him.

They headed back out the way they'd come, But just as they turned to leave, a low rumble shook the ground beneath their feet again. The sound echoed through the cavern, growing louder by the second.

Harry’s instincts kicked in. “Draco, move!”

Before they could take more than a few steps, the ceiling groaned and the entire end room collapsed behind them. Rocks tumbled down, dust filling the air. Draco reacted quickly, his wand raised as he cast a shield charm, his voice tight with panic.

"I can’t – " His voice wavered as the weight of the rocks bore down on the shimmering barrier. Draco’s arm shook, his face pale. "I can’t hold it!"

The shield flickered under the strain, cracks forming as more debris rained down. Harry’s heart raced as he saw the panic in Draco’s eyes.

“Let me take over!” Harry shouted, stepping forward and pushing Draco out of the way.

Draco nodded, stumbling back. His arm dropped, and Harry thrust both hands upward, casting a powerful Protego Maxima. The shield flared to life, shimmering brighter than Draco’s had, deflecting the rocks. But even with his magic, Harry could feel the weight of the collapsing tunnel bearing down on them.

Draco was already scanning the tunnel, his sharp gaze flicking from wall to wall. “We need to go back the way we came,” he shouted over the noise of the collapse. “We’ll have to stabilise it as we move.”

“Go.” Harry gritted his teeth, the pressure on the shield growing as more debris fell. He could feel the stones hammering against the barrier, but he didn’t have time to think about it. Draco was right – they needed to move before the entire place came down on top of them.

Draco dashed toward the tunnel entrance, casting quick spells to reinforce the unstable sections as he moved. Harry followed, backing out of the collapsing tunnel where his magic no longer reached. With each step he took, he let the rocks collapse behind him, sealing the way they had come.

“Hurry!” Draco called, his voice tinged with urgency as he kept casting stabilisation spells. The rare and precious flowers had been flattened, no longer a threat that might pull Harry in.

Harry moved quickly, the strain of holding the shield taking its toll. His magic was strong, but even he couldn’t hold back the entire collapse for long. The air was thick with dust and the roar of falling rocks, but they pushed forward, retracing their steps through the narrow passageway they had entered from.

As they neared the entrance of the tunnel, Harry finally dropped the shield, letting the last of the debris crash down behind them. The tunnel groaned and shuddered, then collapsed.

They burst out of the tunnel entrance, stumbling onto the rocky slope outside, gasping for breath. The air outside was cold, sharp against Harry’s lungs after the dust-filled cavern. He bent over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Draco stood beside him, also breathing heavily, his face pale and gaunt. “Well,” Draco said, a wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, “that was close.”

Harry let out a shaky laugh, straightening up. “Too close.”

They stood in silence for a moment, both of them staring back at the now-sealed tunnel entrance.

“Pretty sure we just destroyed some local’s extra income. That's why they didn't want to tell us about this location, they were harvesting the Lure Lilies.”

Harry nodded, his expression hardening. “Let’s get out of here before this whole mountain decides to collapse. I've had quite enough of that, thanks.”

Chapter Text

As promised, Harry handed over not only the shell fragments they'd found, but also a detailed summary of the exploration of the tunnel within twenty-four hours. He was called in and debriefed at length by Fairweather herself with most questions focusing on whether the collapse could have been prevented.

Fairweather was calm, eerily so, which told Harry just how furious she really was. He reminded her he would have stopped the collapse, but even he hadn't been able to hold up a mountain. Plus, he had to make sure Draco got out alright. It didn't seem to mollify her.

Harry dutifully handed over the eggshell shards with the runes on, as well as a written, forty-two inches summary of the runes and their meanings in Draco's neat script.

If he kept a piece of eggshell without any runes on them for himself – well. No one really needed to know, did they? The shard was small, only about palm-sized but it's rainbow-hued iridescence was just as visible.

If Harry had thought Gabby was obsessed with the feather, it was nothing in comparison to the shell, which, given the chance, she liked licking, so Harry kept it locked up in his trunk. He'd shown it to Millicent, but she'd never seen or heard of a mostly transparent eggshell before. She'd promised to hit the books.

And while they at least had a lead on the case, his luck wasn't quite as favourable in other aspects of his life.

Price published yet another article and this one hit home.

Suddenly, all the random glances that had been directed their way, turned into speculative looks, like they were assessing his mental state.

For once, he didn't want to know what Price had written. Probably something further along the lines of ‘Harry Potter is mad, let me tell you why’.

After one particularly disastrous fifth year practical class, which Harry had to cut short in fear he might actually lose a student due to blatant carelessness, he confiscated a copy of the Daily Prophet, which had been the cause of said inattention and sent the kids on to an early lunch.

With the paper tucked under his arm, still shaking his head at the disregard for personal safety kids could show – and yes, he didn't need Hermione to point out the irony of that – Harry took his place at the staff table, not really paying attention to the cheerful chatter of the students or the quiet murmurs of his colleagues. But then, slowly, he started to notice something off – whispers that grew louder, glances that lingered just a bit too long.

His gaze drifted down the length of the table, catching sight of a few teachers reading their copies of the Prophet. Normally, he wouldn’t give it a second thought. But today, there was something different in the way people were reacting. The atmosphere had changed, a tension creeping into the air that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Without thinking, Harry fumbled with the confiscated newspaper, carelessly dropping it on the table.

A wave of unease washed over him. He knew before even unfolding it that something was terribly wrong. And not the normal kind of wrong he'd come to expect. His heart beat noticeably in his chest as he flipped to the front page, and there it was – his and Draco’s names in bold print, splashed across the headline:

“FAKE LOVE, REAL AGENDA? HARRY POTTER AND DRACO MALFOY’S LOVE A PLOY!”

A sick feeling settled in his stomach as he began to read. The article, penned by Evander Price, was as malicious as it was thorough. He laid out the scheme in excruciating detail, claiming that Harry and Draco had concocted a fake relationship to serve their own desperate needs.

Harry's hand gripped his wrist while he read, so hard he would leave a red mark alongside all the golden imprints.

According to Price, Harry was using the ruse to cling to his fading fame, leveraging his connection to Draco for the sake of staying relevant in the Wizarding World. Meanwhile, Draco was allegedly trying to rehabilitate his still tarnished reputation, hiding the skeletons in his closet behind the veneer of Harry’s approval.

It was amazing how a person could be this right and this wrong all in the same paragraph.

Price didn’t stop there. He insinuated that the two of them had been staging public moments, orchestrating their every interaction to manipulate public perception. He even cited several Muggle articles which described this kind of deception as common among celebrities who used these fake relationships to boost their careers or simply to keep themselves relevant.

Harry’s hands tightened around the edges of the paper, his knuckles turning white while his magic boiled, the edges of his hair whipping in the unseen force. He knew Price thought him power hungry, but this was ridiculous. When in the last few years had he done anything to lead Price to that conclusion?

It felt like he'd been doing this for far too long, since coming to Hogwarts as a child; always fighting at two fronts, the one that contained true evil and the second that was made up of more mundane, everyday evil, very much in the way of people like Price.

If he would just keep his quill to himself, or report on true issues, then this entire mess wouldn't have to exist.

Another part of him, he realised, was angry for quite a different reason: why was it that when he went public about dating a bloke, it was brushed off as an untruth? The fact that it really was an untruth didn't matter, because Harry was one hundred percent sure if he'd started this entire fake dating business with a woman, then today's article wouldn't have been published.

No, this was published because Draco was an easy way to discredit the story, just as it was easy to make Harry look completely unhinged if he didn't dance to the public's demanding fiddle.

And Harry was done with being pushed to do things for the sake of looking normal, of being what the public expected of him. He felt like a marionette, having his strings pulled this way and that. And what did he get out of it? To collapse once the show was over?

No thanks.

Each word was like another blow, anger building inside him until he felt like he might explode.

Gabby was suddenly there, huge and leaving no one in doubt that she truly was growing, brushing against his side and purring up a storm. Harry tried to calm himself when he looked around and realised he was in the Great Hall and yes, several colleagues and students were aware of his little magical outburst.

McGonagall wasn't here but, shit, this would get back to her wouldn't it? And then he'd have another invitation to her office, being told off for – well, whatever. There always seemed to be something, after all. And this time, it wasn't even something he actively chose to do.

He gripped Gabby's mane, grounding himself as he breathed deeply, trying to push down the flurry of emotions and errant magic alike.

The idea that people would think he would only date a guy for media reasons, that he'd obviously drop everything if just the right woman would come along, it made his blood boil.

Everyone had an opinion on how his life should look. And apparently, no one seemed to bother asking for his input.

Without a word, Harry shoved the paper away from him.

Gabby was half-draped, half standing over his legs, having grown another inch within the last few minutes. Harry had no idea what she was actually doing, but it felt like she was absorbing his magical outburst, sparing him from that embarrassment.

It didn't help with the anger though, that lingered like an unwelcomed guest.

A murmur flowed through the students, travelling up the tables until it stopped just before the Head Table.

With it, Draco Malfoy strode up the centre aisle, his robe billowing dramatically behind him. He didn't look hurried though, but his step was clearly purposeful.

One look at his face and Harry knew he'd read the article as well; Draco looked worried. Maybe not to everyone, but it was clear as day to Harry in the way Draco glanced down the Head Table to assess how far the news had spread, how his hand gripped the chair besides Harry's just a bit too hard as he pulled it back.

Harry realised most people were staring, probably everyone who'd read that thrice cursed trash rag.

They were watching for signs to prove their theory right, to point their finger and say ‘see, clearly it is a farce’.

And so, without much thinking at all, with anger churning in his gut, Gabby still purring and too many surreptitious eyes on them, Harry locked his gaze with Draco.

As if in a dream, one filled with spite, at least, Harry reached out, his hand sliding over Draco's jaw to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck.

Harry leaned in while simultaneously pulling Draco forward. He did so slowly, giving Draco plenty of time to turn his head for a cheek kiss, which certainly would be more appropriate in their current setting.

Not that Harry cared. Apparently, people would think and say and write whatever they wanted. And he was so done with it.

His lips brushed against Draco’s gently. They were close enough that Harry heard the small surprised intake of Malfoy's breath, like he hadn't quite believed it would happen until it did.

The kiss was chaste, but it lingered warmly, their breaths mingling as soft lips pressed against his, the smell of honeysuckle thick in his nose.

Another gentle movement, a firmer press and what Harry could only describe as a silent groan escaping from Draco's throat. They pulled apart, their foreheads touching for a moment while they both breathed deeply.

“Hi,” Draco said, the smile evident in the single syllable.

Harry pried open his eyes, pulling back slightly. An equally ridiculous smile had sneaked onto his own face. This situation didn't deserve his bad mood. “Hi.”

“Want to get out of here?”

Harry nodded, already pushing back his chair and ignoring all the stares directed at them. He held out his hand. “Let's go.”

Draco looked at it for a beat, then clasped Harry's hand tightly.

It was a beautiful day, so they headed outside to take a walk along the lake. Harry's next class would not start until this afternoon, so they took their time.

“He has no proof,” Draco reminded him. “This is all about swaying the public perception. It is quite nasty though, and I can't seem to get an idea of his true motives. This is something that might seriously damage his career if it was irrefutably proven wrong. So why is he like a dog with a bone?”

Harry opened his mouth but snapped it shut again. He had a pretty good idea on those motives, but of course, he couldn't share. He'd made sure of that, hadn't he? And so he didn't, instead he watched Gabby bat at one of the giant squid’s tentacles and it splashed her for her troubles.

She hissed at the water, her fur standing on end.

“Gabby, just leave him be,” Harry said softly, but she was having none of it. Harry shrugged and kept on walking. She'd always had it out for the squid, who seemed to enjoy taunting her.

The wind was light, and the atmosphere felt calmer than it had inside the castle. The tension from the Prophet’s article, the scrutiny from the students and staff – it all seemed to fade as they walked together.

They weren't speaking much, but the silence between them was comfortable, not awkward. Draco’s grip on Harry’s hand had remained firm, almost possessive, and Harry found himself grateful for the need to appear as a couple would, giving each other strength in a tiring time.

“Powell’s tailing me, by the way,” Draco said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was casual, but the way his thumb rubbed over Harry’s knuckles spoke a different story.

“Powell?” Harry asked, confused for a moment before realisation hit him. The young reporter who tried to interview him during the blackout in Diagon Alley. “When did that start?”

Draco glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Few days ago. I didn’t want to mention it before, but after today’s article… well, I thought you should know.”

Harry’s stomach sank. “So, what? He’s working with Price now? Trying to catch us out?”

Draco shrugged. “It seems like that. Powell’s pretty subtle, but he’s relentless. Just be careful when you leave the Hogwarts grounds, you might well be trailed, too.”

Harry stopped walking, turning to face Draco fully. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Draco’s lips twitched into a smile. “You have to ask? Look at how you took that article.”

Harry should have probably felt insulted, but instead, he felt a surge of something he wasn’t sure how to name. Gratitude, affection – something warm and deep. He took a step closer to Draco, feeling the need to close the small distance between them.

“You do know I can handle this? Even if it makes me mad.”

Draco’s breath hitched ever so slightly, his eyes flickering down for just a second. “Why do you get so mad about it? It's May, the school year ends next month. Ava will leave and this charade will be over.”

“Because all my life, people have thought it was their right to butt into my business, to tell me what to do and what not. I mean, who gets pressed about the idea of us dating? You've been acquitted thanks to your mother, so that whole Death Eater argument isn't valid. And even if it were, so what? Clearly you've changed. But no, they don't like it, because it doesn't fit into their world view. This is my life they're debating. Mine.”

“Right,” Draco said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Without thinking, Harry pulled Draco into a hug, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Draco stiffened for a moment before relaxing into the embrace, his hands finding their way to Harry’s back, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his robes.

The warmth of Draco’s body against his was soothing, grounding. Harry’s face rested in the crook of Draco’s neck, inhaling the faint scent of whatever expensive cologne he used. It was calming, reassuring. This emotion, this feeling of comfort, it felt real. Not fake, not part of some performance for the world to see, but real. And it had nothing to do with dating, fake or otherwise.

A group of students passed by on their way to a lesson, their chatter and footsteps breaking the spell. Harry reluctantly pulled back, his hands lingering on Draco’s shoulders as he caught his breath. He wasn’t sure how long they had stood there. Probably too long.

Draco’s cheeks were faintly flushed, but his eyes were calm. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to break whatever connection had just formed between them.

Harry nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I am.”

Draco returned the smile, though his brow furrowed slightly. “Good, because if Powell’s around, we’ll need to be more careful. He’s slippery.”

“I know,” Harry said, but he didn’t care about Powell or Price or the Prophet right now. He squeezed Draco’s shoulder lightly. “Thanks.”

Draco huffed, a small smirk forming. “Are you getting all Gryffindor on me now?”

Harry chuckled. “I'm thanking you for understanding my outburst. Instead of telling me what I did wrong.”

“I always tell you when you do something wrong. It's quite a frequent occurrence, in fact.”

Harry laughed. “Sure. But not when it's something I already know and just don't know how to deal with yet.”

###

Harry felt like he needed to breathe some more, to be away from the crowds for just a second. Spring was in full swing, the sun out and the birds trying to outsing each other.

So instead of heading back, he led them to the lake, picking a place in the sun with the wooden deck that extended over the water’s edge. Two wooden benches sat on top. They sat down side-by-side, watching Gabby bound off towards the Forbidden Forest.

“Will she be okay?”

Harry nodded. “She's very good and doesn't hunt anymore. She actually gets along pretty well with most things in there. I go for walks with her in the Forest sometimes. She's a very good girl.”

“You go for… Merlin, Potter, are you telling me you like to take a stroll in the Forbidden Forest? For fun?”

Harry shrugged. “It's not so bad. These days, nothing really bothers me in there. You should have heard McGonagall though, when I took the sixth years in there once. Not even that deep. That was several years ago, though. I am now no longer allowed to take any students into the Forest, for any reason. She can't stop me though, and trust me, she tried.”

“Price might be right,” Draco said. “You really are insane.”

Harry shrugged. It wasn't that bad.

Draco sighed, his grey eyes fixed on a ripple speeding across the still surface of the lake. Eventually, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry gave it a long thought. He didn't, not really. His little outburst was embarrassing enough. It wasn't that he didn't want Draco to know what made him so volatile, he just didn't much care for the subject.

That in itself made the decision for him.

“After the war, I wanted to become an Auror,” he said, his voice slightly raspy. “It made sense, because it was what I knew. What I was good at. At first, it worked out quite well; the training was tiring, and we were rebuilding Hogwarts back then. I fell into bed each night utterly exhausted. But once the training came to an end and I started spending more and more time away from the school, things started to happen.”

After a while, Draco coaxed, “What sort of things?”

“Oh, you know. Light fixtures bursting, accidental levitation, unintended transfigurations. Right there in the middle of the Auror Headquarters.” Harry watched the giant squid wave one tentacle before continuing, “Hermione figured it out. I was the one causing all the disruption. Or more precisely, my magic, which I seemed to be losing control over.”

Draco frowned, clearly disagreeing with the statement, but not interrupting anyway.

“These days, I know better, of course. I wasn't losing control, that never changed. My magic was just spilling over, with nowhere to go. But back then, I thought the stress from the war was catching up to me. I also… had my first relationship with a man. Everyone was worried what it would do to me, my image, when it got out. They were already worried I was losing it, so they thought I wouldn't be able to handle the public, too. I was young – it's not an excuse, I know – but I eventually caved. It…didn't end well. To top it all, I was asked to take time off indefinitely and moved into Grimmauld full time. But things just got worse there.”

“Because Grimmauld isn't your home.”

Harry looked up, surprised. “How did you – ?”

“Give me some credit. My family line dates back to before the Founders. You aren't the first strong wizard to experience magical issues.”

Harry perked up. “Do you have anything I can read up on? I have Dumbledore's journals, but so far they create more questions than provide answers.”

“You have Dumbledore's…” Draco stared at him. “There's only ever been rumours about those journals.”

Harry shrugged. “Left to me in his will, but the Ministry confiscated them for years. They've given me some insight into this, but not as much as I'd hoped.”

“I'll compile you a reading list,” Draco said. “What have you found out so far?”

Harry could feel his mood plummeting at the topic. “It would seem that I have – ah – an uncommon amount of magic. By all accounts, Dumbledore was the same. And Grindelwald. And Voldemort.” Harry took a deep breath. “So you might understand, that with those to compare me to, I'm not taking chances.”

Draco's expression softened and he grabbed Harry's hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You're not going to turn Dark, Harry. It takes more than being extra powerful. Look at Dumbledore.”

Harry had been down that mental road before, how could he not? And while it made sense on the surface, he simply wasn't prepared to take that chance. “It doesn't change the fact that I can't control my surplus magic, which has caused chaos before. And the older I got, the more unlikely it was I could use up enough during the day to not have it be an issue.”

The next bit was the difficult part, the one Harry still struggled with the most. And even now, the words didn't want to come.

“Hogwarts is your home,” Draco said eventually. “It's big enough to be able to deal with your magic.”

Harry looked up, genuinely surprised. Even Hermione, who read everything she could get her hands on, hadn't heard of that theory before they started researching his little outbursts in greater detail. And when Harry stumbled across the theory in one of Dumbledore's journals and brought it to her, she'd been sceptical due to the lack of corroborating texts.

“Home is one word for it.” The bitterness in Harry's tone was unmistakable. “I’m practically bound to it. I couldn't even spend all twelve days of Christmas at the Burrow. Do you have any idea how it feels to be our age and unable to control one's own magic?”

“No.” Draco's tone wasn't full of pity, nor concerned. Just factual. He looked out over the lake, his eyes tracking the water's edge.

Outside, with the sun shining and his pupils small, their colour was on full display, a blue so pale it was more of a light grey, surrounded by a much darker ring. It looked quite alien, Harry thought. Otherworldly. Especially in combination with his pale hair. This certainly wasn't an eye colour he'd seen in anyone else.

“I see. What have you tried so far?”

“Tried suppressing it at first, probably with the worst results. I also tried exhausting my magic to prevent any unintentional spillage. That one worked better, but to be quite frank, it's not as easy as it sounds. Just casting a hundred normal extra spells certainly won't. And I'm not always in a situation where I can cast more exhausting spells, though I do jump at the idea. That's why I like it when Fairweather calls me in. It – I have to use my magic, or I get… restless.”

“Hm,” Draco hummed, looking back out over the lake again. His pupils had widened, reducing the grey. It changed his entire look, completely different from moments before.

“I read more on Dumbledore's thoughts on the subject the other day, so I tested it,” Harry confided. “After that blackout in Diagon Alley. The problem is, it's almost impossible for me to distinguish it from normal fatigue. I basically only realise which one it is when I return to the Hogwarts grounds; if I perk up quite quickly, it's magical exhaustion. If not, it's the regular kind.”

“And you can't go around living your life if you're exhausted all the time. Not properly anyway. My mother is proof of that.”

The last bit had been said deep in thought, not an invitation to press, so Harry didn't. They could talk about the reason for Narcissa's wheelchair when Draco felt ready, there was no need to rush.

They fell silent, both deep in thought.

“I could help you,” Draco offered eventually. “Though I'd probably need access to Dumbledore's journals.”

Harry looked at him for a long moment. “You'd help? Just like that?”

Draco shrugged, for the first time today he looked slightly uncomfortable. “It's a fascinating subject and generally, I'm very interested in magical theory. And honestly, it would probably help our public story to spend more time together, especially after today's article. Price really doesn't like you, does he?”

Harry bit his lip. No, Price certainly didn't. But then, that wasn't really surprising, given their history.

“I keep Dumbledore's journals in my quarters. You're welcome to read them there anytime. Though I'd ask you not to remove them.”

Draco nodded. “I can work with that.”

“I guess you can stay over whenever you like. It's probably helpful if people see you coming and going at all times of the day.”

“Mind if I join you tonight? I'd love to get started on the reading.”

Harry stood, brushing his hands on his thighs. “Yeah, okay.” Just half an hour ago he'd been feeling sick to his stomach. Now, it gave a loud grumble. “Come on then, I have to prepare for my next class soon and I want to swing by the kitchens. That article messed with my lunch.”

They headed back into the castle, Harry sweet-talking the house-elves into an array of snacks, cold-cuts and leftovers. The Fat Friar floated past the kitchens, nodding at them cheerfully.

Back in his quarters, Harry placed their bounty onto the couch table before heading over to the bookshelf. He extracted the first volume of Dumbledore's journals, an old and battered green affair with several loose pages.

He handed it to Draco, whose fingers rested on the spine with an almost reverent touch, as though he were handling something precious and rare. Well, Harry supposed he was.

“He wasn't quite as diligent about keeping track in his younger years. You'll see I've bookmarked places that I believe are relevant to the topic. There's actually several volumes where he doesn't mention it at all. You're welcome to read all of them though, if you think I've missed something.”

Draco nodded, taking the old book from him with care. “Thank you. Do you have any parchment and a quill for me? I like taking notes.”

Harry nodded over to his desk, where another batch of essays awaited grading. “In the drawers, you're welcome to help yourself. Oh and please don't close the window, that's how Gabby gets back inside. There's a Ventis Seclusio ward on it to keep the elements out. It shouldn't wear off for another couple of days, but if it does let me know and I'll recast it.”

“Okay.”

He hesitated for just a moment. “The password is ‘custos Gabby’. In case you need to leave.”

A smirk played on Malfoy's lips, but he just nodded.

Harry returned the nod, feeling slightly weird about having Draco stay over like this. It was one thing to pretend they were dating and an entirely different thing to suddenly share his private space with someone.

By the time he was done with his afternoon classes, he was antsy to get back to his rooms. It wasn't that he didn't trust Draco… Well, he wasn't sure what it was.

Gabby met him in the hallway, her new bulk parting the lingering students very effectively. They'd just set off, when he was headed off by Hermione's otter Patronus, telling him they were on the way and if he would meet them in the courtyard by the Entrance Hall.

Harry sighed, patted Gabby's shoulder and adjusted his course.

###

“Harry?”

Harry was startled out of his reverie when the voice intruded into what had become a very comfortable silence. Gabby stretched, rising to her new height and eyeing the newcomers suspiciously.

Hermione and Ron were heading towards them, the expression on their faces letting Harry know he wasn't about to enjoy the conversation.

“Sorry it took us a bit longer, we met Neville by the Greenhouses,” Ron said, giving the newly-sized Gabby a weary look.

Harry petted her golden fur. “How about you go off, hmm?”

Gabby gave him an indignant look, like she thought he had insulted her courage. But with another slow stretch and a purposeful turning her back on them like they didn't worry her at all, she slowly started heading in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

“I thought she was fully grown?” Hermione asked, clearly fascinated. There wasn't a topic that didn't interest her.

“Millicent said she's fine,” Harry said, patting the bench beside him. “Just her being magical.”

He wanted to apologise and get this conversation over, a nervous flicker in his stomach that would turn into the urge to run if he didn't suppress it.

Hermione took the spot while Ron pulled out his wand and magically dragged over the second bench, angling so they sat in a near circle.

“How are you doing, Harry?” Hermione asked, her tone so worried that Harry had to push down his first response.

They had sought him out even though it should have been the other way around. The least he could do was not snap at her before the pleasantries were exchanged.

“I'm wonderful,” he said, trying to sound as normal as possible. “How are you?”

“The morning sickness has started,” Hermione said, a slight look of annoyance on her features. “The name is very misleading. I wish it only happened in the mornings.”

“We're going to get a potion from a midwife Mum knows,” Ron said, mostly to assure his wife.

“I don't know if I want to be taking potions,” Hermione snapped. “It might influence the foetus’ development.”

“‘Mione, please stop referring to our baby as a foetus! It sounds horrible.”

“Well, that's what it's called,” Hermione said primly, “not baby or peanut or nugget. What's wrong with the proper term?”

Both Harry and Ron chose not to answer that. Ron was practically oozing helpful husband energy. Harry guessed the pregnancy hormones were another side-effect Hermione was experiencing.

“So,” she said when no one challenged her. “Harry, we need to talk.”

“Okay. Let's talk. What about?”

The look Hermione shot him let him know she was having none of it. “You and Malfoy. And this media circus surrounding the both of you. And after today's article… well. We thought we should pay you a visit.”

“Is it true then?” Ron asked, and eager tilt to his tone. “Are the two of you just pretending?”

Sure, because that would solve all their problems, wouldn't it. “That would imply you think I'm doing this to hold on to my fading fame. Thanks, mate.”

Hermione waved off Ron's answer. “We'd just like to know where your head's at, Harry.”

Harry nodded. He'd expected as much. “Go on.”

Hermione heaved a sigh, shooting a stern glance at Ron, who had been about to speak. “We've accepted you going out and doing this dating random guys. Quite frankly, you're a bit of an adrenaline junkie and I guess it's your way to let off some steam. And that's okay, I support your choices.”

Harry grit his teeth, forcing a smile. “Gee, thanks, Hermione.”

She nodded, clearly choosing to ignore his sarcasm. “But we still think you're taking it a bit too far. I mean I get wanting some excitement, but Malfoy? I don't know…”

Ron nodded, adding, “I mean, we all know you have issues getting closer to people. You're worried you'll lose them as well. And I get that, mate, I do. But it can't be healthy to instead go for someone who doesn't trigger that fear, because deep down you don't care. I mean, we all remember what he did during the war, even if he did weasel himself out of the consequences somehow. He wasn't under the Imperius curse, we all know that…”

“So naturally,” Hermione interrupted, “we worry about you.”

“That's kind of you,” Harry replied in what he thought was a very controlled manner. He wondered what they'd say if he told them Draco was back in his rooms.

He could feel his magic boiling under his skin, eager to be used. But unlike at the Burrow, it was easy to ignore it, to let it dissipate on its own.

He would be sensible about this. Rational, even.

“You're not really giving Draco a chance. He's changed a lot over the years. We all have.”

“Yes, of course,” Hermione was quick to assure. “But what if your attraction to him is just an extension of your need for a thrill? And the two of you do have history. We're worried you'll get really hurt when this inevitably ends.”

Harry was sure that any moment now, they'd hear his teeth grinding together. Rational and logical, he needed to remember that.

“I'm honestly not sure which one of us you're trying to insult more with that.” Okay, so maybe he really was starting to be pissed off at this. “Me, for believing I'd hook up with someone I don't even like just to get my kicks, or him for – well, I'm not actually sure? That he's so stagnant, he's the same person we knew in school.”

At this point, all Harry wanted to add was ‘like you and Ron’, but he didn't. He was angry with his friends, but that was just it; they still were his friends. True or not, he wasn't prepared to burn all his bridges for a quabble. And he wasn't that big of an arsehole, either.

He couldn't help to point out, however, “In fact, one of the reasons I'm drawn to him is his ability to truly change. People often talk about wanting to change, but precious few do. It's just not something you see a lot. And quite frankly it's rather admirable.” He took a deep breath before adding, “aren't you always the one to preach to us to give people a second chance?”

“Yes, well, of course,” Hermione said, clearly disliking the fact he was using her own words against her. “I'm not saying he's evil. I just think that you chose him for the wrong reasons.”

Ron, who had been suspiciously quiet finally chimed in, “And you didn't even tell us, we had to find out through the paper.”

Hermione nodded empathetically. “You're shutting us out. You have been since Ginny. You dropped the news about our pregnancy, for crying out loud! We're not saying you're crazy, but thanks to the article there are people out there who are starting to believe it. And if you're going to keep making choices like this, it's going to get worse.”

That, more than anything, made Harry truly angry. “So you want me to give up my happiness just so the press will stop writing bad things about me? They've been writing shit about me all my life! It only got better when Draco chose to step up. Evan is too butthurt to stop anyway. And I'd like to point out, that you two carry some of that responsibility, too. I’m not going to live my life according to the rules others want me to. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m just not living up to the expectations they – and quite frankly, you – have for me. And that’s not my problem.”

He’d gotten more heated during his little speech, the topic managing to get his blood boiling. This wasn’t about dating a man or even Draco. People wanted him to fulfill their own vision of how a hero should be, with no regards to his own wishes. He was sick and tired of worrying about other people. Hadn’t he done enough for them? What more could he do than save the bloody world.

And he wasn’t done yet.

Harry got up, needing to move. He paced to the end of one bench, whipped around and strode to the end of the second one.

“It’s easy for you. Ever since the war, you’ve had each other.”

“You had Ginny,” Ron said, his tone an odd mix between bitter and soothing. “You let her go.”

Harry spun on him. “For the love of Merlin, can you please let it go? We didn’t work out, it happens. We’re even on speaking terms. And there’s another thing I won’t do just to please others; I won’t get back together with her just so you’re happy! She wouldn’t have me anyway, let it go.”

Ron’s expression fell, as though for the first time it had sunk in that it really wouldn’t happen between his sister and best friend. He looked hurt.

Well, not much Harry could do about that.

“The public is on my case about the choices I make, there’s magical blackouts that consume people’s magic and an ex of mine is so butt hurt that I broke it off with him, he’s prepared to set the world on fire just to get back at me. Oh, and just to remind you, it wasn’t my choice to break it off with him, I did it because of a false sense of duty and because the people around me told me it would be best.”

Harry took a deep breath. Apparently, this was the moment he’d been waiting for to get it all out.

“And let me tell you, it did not turn out for the best. At least if I’d listened to myself, I’d only have myself to blame. Oh, and to top it all off, my magic control is slowly getting worse and worse and the only one who doesn’t think it’s because I simply ‘don’t try hard enough’ is Draco. I can’t leave this place for more than a couple of days without becoming a danger to society!”

Harry took in another deep breath, but it didn’t help. Nothing would right then, he knew that.

Hermione stood as well, her hair a halo around her face. “You think we don’t understand? We’re trying to help you. But you won’t even let us in. It’s like you’re determined to make this harder than it has to be. There’s no researched reason regarding your magical outbursts, I’ve checked extensively!”

Harry gave a derisive snort. “And if there is no scientific explanation for it, then it doesn’t exist, right? Maybe it’s too uncommon, or too nuanced. Because there seem to be an awful amount of anecdotal tales about exactly this issue. But of course, unless the square piece fits into a nice square hole, then it must be made up. Shouldn’t you, of all people, know that there’s more out there than we have discovered? That beliefs are constantly shifting? We certainly never believed someone’s magic could be taken from them, it’s innate, it’ll replenish. But hey, I know about several people currently in St. Mungo’s who can tell you differently.”

Hermione snapped her mouth shut, though she clearly wasn’t convinced. This was going nowhere.

Harry dragged a frustrated hand through his hair. “Honestly, I’m really fucking sick of this shit. And right now, I’m angry enough to say things I might regret. Let’s talk about it some other time.”

“Harry –” Hermione said but she was cut off by Ron standing suddenly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“He’s got a point, ‘Mione. You’re supposed to avoid stress in your current condition and Harry is leaking magic so badly it’s whipping his robes about.”

Harry realised he was right. His hair and clothes were moving about as if he was standing in a strong gale, only it was a wind-free day. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. It didn’t help.

“We’re here for you, Harry,” Ron said calmly. “Whenever you feel like sharing what you’re experiencing, we’ll listen. And help, if you want. You know that, mate, right?”

Harry nodded sharply. Behind his cool demeanour, Ron looked slightly worried. Great, now he’d managed to make his friends afraid of him.

###

After an awkward goodbye, Harry watched his friends head down the main path to the front gate.

He desperately wanted to go to the Quidditch pitch, an hour or so would do it. But he didn't have time for that, so instead he turned abruptly and headed back inside.

He couldn't change anything now, and they'd promised to speak about this again. That was good, right? And they'd actually managed to clear – if not all, then at least some of – the air.

Mostly, Harry was really happy they'd come to Hogwarts to discuss this. Even if it hadn't been their main motivation, he couldn't even imagine how this conversation would have gone outside the castle walls, without the levelling effect his home had on him.

He dodged a trio of third years, running to their class.

“Sorry, professor!” they shouted once he peeled himself off the wall again.

“You'll have to work on your time management!” he called after them, though his heart wasn't in it.

“Not that I don't have things to work on,” he said out loud before realising Gabby wasn't with him, of course, probably off frolicking in the Forbidden Forest.

He sighed and pushed open the door to his rooms after a quick thought of the password. He stopped nearly dead in his tracks.

He'd forgotten Draco was here. It was too odd for his mind to comprehend and Draco wasn't one of those invisible guests, who hid their luggage and took their toothbrush back to their bag once done. No, Draco had made himself at home, with several journals laying open on whatever surface had been available; the back of the couch, the small table by the window, the remaining desk space.

A trunk – not Harry's – had been shoved in one corner, the lid propped open to reveal a stack of neatly folded clothes inside. Draco had changed, loose fitting pants and a soft-looking jumper with too-long arms as a firm differentiation to the set of robes he'd worn when Harry had left. To Harry's utter surprise, he was wearing a pair of reading glasses.

It took a second or two, but he finally found his voice, “Uhm. Hi?“

Draco gave him an absent smile, barely lifting his head enough for their eyes to make contact. “Hey, Harry. I’m up to Dumbledore’s mid-twenties now. It’s amazing how, in one entry, he laments his sister’s death, and on the next page writes: ‘After years of careful tasting, I’ve concluded that nothing quite rivals the simple joy of treacle tart.’”

Harry leaned against the door, removing his shoes. Beatrice flitted through her painting on her way somewhere else, not even stopping to say hello. “I think the frivolity of normal things helped him balance his emotions. He only gets more descriptive through the years,” Harry replied. He hadn't missed Draco calling him by his first name in private. He just didn't want to make a big deal of it.

Draco tapped the end of his quill against his cheek, deep in thought. “Or he knew these journals would one day be read by someone else. And that person would need a break between his darkest musings.”

He'd never thought about it like that, but it was entirely likely. “I think you might be right.” He headed to his bedroom door, nodding nonchalantly into the direction of Draco's luggage.

“You got your stuff?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Asked a house-elf to bring me some things. Hope you don't mind, I've taken over that corner.”

“Of course not, you can make yourself right at home.” Harry entered his bedroom, picking up the things he'd need and spoke more loudly to compensate for the distance, “I'm just going to go shower, then I'll have to finish grading those sixth year's essays.”

For the first time, Draco looked up properly. “Will you need the desk?”

Harry emerged, shaking his head. “No, not tonight, I'll take the couch.”

“Okay,” Draco agreed, his voice soft, his eyes falling back to the journal in front of him.

Harry showered, taking his time to clear his head. Once he was freshly dressed, he took his stack of parchments to the couch, Draco barely looking up when he re-entered the room. The silence though wasn't uncomfortable, just both of them concentrating intently on their own thing, while the other person was just kind of… there.

When Draco leaned over the book before him, head tilting slightly, there was an attentiveness to him that made Harry feel like he was witnessing something rare – a side of Draco he didn’t share with everyone.

And whenever Draco was deep in thought, a furrow would crease his brow, softening the sharpness of his features in a way that caught Harry off guard. He looked almost vulnerable, his focus so intent that he seemed unaware of anything around him, as though the entire world had ceased to exist except for the journals holding his attention.

It was odd, Harry mused, staring into the empty fire grate, the end of his quill tickling his nose. He'd shared space with several people just like this before, the last few times people he knew intimately. And never had the silence been this relaxed, this undemanding on the other person's time.

They were both just there, in the same space, with no demands on one another's time. It was quite a lovely feeling, he realised.

After some time and with five essays to go Harry stood, stretching the kinks out of his spine. “I fancy a cup of tea. How about you?”

Draco looked up as if Harry had offered him a lifetime’s worth of chocolate frogs. “That would be marvellous.”

Harry called for Pippet, knowing she chose the evening shift. She greeted them both with a curt nod, took their order and left the room the same way she'd arrived; with a loud crack.

“Is that a teacher privilege, then? Or is she making an exception for you?”

“No,” Harry chuckled, clearing the little coffee table by the couch. “It's available to all teachers, so we don't have to walk fifteen minutes if we fancy a cuppa at night. Though McGonagall does remind us not to overuse the service.”

Draco nodded, sliding off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. He stretched, extending long arms over his head.

He was startled by Gabby jumping in through the window, which was quite an experience at her current size.

Draco brought one hand to the front of his jumper, eyes wide. “Merlin, she scared me. You should get her a bell or something. A cow’s bell, judging by her size.”

Gabby, who'd taken in the entire scene with narrowed amber eyes, padded over to the couch, her huge paws making dull thuds on the floor as she walked.

“She doesn't like bells, pulls them right off, just wedges her claw in the little ring and off it comes.” He stroked her broad head with great affection. “To be fair, they probably annoy all cats. I don't blame her.”

Gabby continued padding, this time over to the suitcase and sniffed it with great interest.

The tea appeared then, right where Harry had cleared the table, sent up from the kitchen by Pippet’s magic. Two cups steamed away happily and she'd even thrown in a small selection of biscuits, too.

They sat down on the sofa, since everything else was occupied.

Harry watched Draco surreptitiously as they chatted. There was a grace in the way Draco sipped his tea, fingers holding the cup delicately, like he had all the time in the world to savour even this smallest of rituals.

It was oddly calming and Harry found himself truly relaxing for once.

Chapter Text

Harry stumbled out of his bedroom the next morning when it was still dark outside, groggy and in desperate need of tea. Dragging his fingers through his hair, he wasn't surprised to find it a knotted mess.

He'd deal with it later. It wasn't anything the students or teachers hadn't seen before.

He came to an abrupt halt when he found Draco sprawled out on his worn sofa, one forearm flung dramatically across his eyes, the other dangling over the edge. His long fingers twitched.

Right. He'd almost forgotten Draco had spent the night.

Tiptoeing across the room, he noticed that every flat surface was strewn with Dumbledore's journals – some he'd already read, others not yet.

Several pieces of parchment lay scattered on the rug by the fireplace, as if Draco had been clutching them when he fell asleep.

Harry craned his neck to see that the pages were filled with Draco’s sharp, precise handwriting. He'd been taking notes.

Something moved in the corner, and Harry took a step back, feeling like a kid caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"Oh, it's you," he muttered when two huge paws emerged from the shadows, toes spreading and claws extending.

Gabby stretched in that way only cats seemed capable of, no matter their size. She blinked at him slowly before arching her back, pulling her shoulders high and pushing her hindquarters low.

"Were you here all night?" Harry murmured as she padded over, bumping his thigh with her large head. She'd grown again, now the size of an adult lion.

She gave a little chirp, her golden eyes sliding over to Draco's elegantly sprawled form. Her disdain was palpable.

"He's not so bad, you know," Harry whispered, scratching under her chin. "You don't need to keep an eye on him when he's here."

Gabby huffed, letting him know exactly what she thought of his lackadaisical attitude.

Harry slipped into the bathroom, moving quietly, not wanting to disturb Draco. He figured he might as well get the basics done before waking him. As he caught sight of the hairbrush lying on the counter, he paused. It wasn’t like he needed to do anything fancy, but dragging it through his hair couldn’t hurt, right? He tugged it through the tangled mess, wincing when it caught on a knot. After a quick glance around, he hurriedly stashed the brush and usual clutter into drawers and cupboards, hoping it would somehow make it more presentable.

By the time he stepped back out, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting a soft light across the room. Gabby’s window was still open, though she hadn't left. Instead, she had decided to park her newly-acquired bulk right in front of the bathroom door. Harry nearly tripped over her on his way out.

“Oh, honestly, Gabby,” he muttered, steadying himself. “What’s gotten into you? You don’t need to protect me.”

“Harry Potter doesn’t need protecting,” came a rough voice from the other side of the sofa. Draco sat up slowly, blinking against the light. His hair stuck out in wild angles at the back. “That’s his whole thing,” Draco muttered, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, like he could push the exhaustion right out of them.

Harry fought the grin creeping across his face. There was something about Draco – grumpy, rumpled Draco – that did something to him, even when he didn’t want to admit it.

“Good morning,” Harry said, aiming for casual, though the sight of Draco in his living room was anything but.

“I don’t know about ‘good’,” Draco grumbled, rolling his head and stretching his back. “But I’ll give you ‘morning.’ This couch is some sort of medieval torture device.”

Harry leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Gabby still blocked the way, her golden eyes flicking between him and Draco. “You wanted to spend time with those journals,” Harry said, a teasing edge to his voice. “I didn’t force you to crash here. And you were the one who fell asleep.”

Draco winced as he stretched again, a groan escaping his lips. “Fell asleep, or was slowly tortured by that lump you call a cushion. Let’s just say, even Azkaban might have been preferable.”

“Like you’d know about that.”

The expression Draco shot him made him look years older. “I do, in fact. I was in there for several weeks. Until my mother’s hearing.”

“Oh, I’m –”

“Don’t worry about it. But my observation stands: this sofa is not meant for sleep. As someone who’s spent more than one night at my desk at work, that’s saying something.”

“You could’ve slept at the desk. I wouldn’t have judged.”

Before Draco could fire back, a sharp voice cut through the room. “Harry, love, why is my frame still askew? Honestly, you young people and your priorities. Some things come first, you know!”

Beatrice looked at him from her portrait, arms crossed and long skirt tilting to the right due to the crooked frame, her painted features exaggerated in disapproval. She folded her arms and shot Harry a stern look. Then she noticed Draco, and her tone turned teasing. “Oh! I didn’t know you had a guest. Rather pretty, that one, isn’t he?”

Draco, still not fully awake, raised an eyebrow. With a casual flick of his wand, Beatrice’s frame snapped back into place.

“Oh, you’re a good one!” Beatrice blew Draco an animated kiss. “Much better than that other fellow who used to come around. I didn’t like him at all.”

Harry felt heat creep up his neck. “He hasn’t been here in almost two years.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “Has it really been that long? Merlin, time flies!” Her gaze drifted to Gabby. “And look at her! My, she’s grown. You must be struggling with some magical instability for her to get that big. Everything all right, dear?”

“It’s fine,” Harry muttered. He glanced at Gabby, who was still eyeing Draco with suspicion. Then, turning to Draco, he added, “Beatrice was a fan of getting her hands dirty, with plants and magical creatures. Early 19th century,” Harry added as an afterthought.

“Hah!” Beatrice interjected. “I’ve always been more of a hands-on type. No book-learning for me. Though I wrote one, but it didn’t exactly sell well. Harry has a copy, of course. He’ll lend it to you.”

“I’d love to read it,” Draco said, his tone surprisingly sincere.

Beatrice seemed flustered, her cheeks taking on a deeper hue of pink. “Very well, dear. I’ll look forward to discussing it with you. But for now, I’m off. Oh, and Harry?” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper, though it was still perfectly audible. “I like him. You should keep him.”

Before Harry could respond, Beatrice winked and disappeared from her frame.

“Is there anyone who you can’t charm?” Harry asked, unable to suppress a smile.

Draco rose, glancing down at his wrinkled robes with a scrunched nose. “It’s ‘whom,’ actually. As in, ‘whom can’t I charm?’ And I make it my business to keep those people as few as possible.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his still-messy hair. “You’re not even trying that charming routine with me, are you?”

“It’s different with you. You know more about me, about my past.” He let that hang in the air while he dug through his trunk, his movements brisk, precise – like the contents were personally responsible for his sour mood. He pulled out fresh clothes and a toiletry bag. “I’ll be quick,” he said, brushing past Harry and Gabby, the cat finally moving aside with a disapproving chirp. “Then we can head to breakfast.”

A few minutes later, the three of them were ready to leave. As they approached the door, Draco cast a glance at the now-empty portrait frame. “She seems like a handful, but I like her. You’ll have to show me her book sometime.”

“I’ve laid it out for you while you were in the shower,” Harry replied, feeling rather pleased with himself.

“Hm,” Draco murmured, slipping his hand into Harry’s as they made their way down the corridor. His touch was casual, but the warmth that spread through Harry was anything but.

The castle felt quieter than usual as they made their way down the corridors, their footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls, the only other sound being Peeves, who was perched above the armour gallery, humming tunelessly as he idly swung a helmet by its plume.

It was Saturday morning, and most of the students were still taking advantage of the extra time to sleep in. Only a few early risers dotted the hallways, dragging their feet in the direction of the Great Hall.

“Morning, you two,” Millicent said as they passed her. She must have already finished breakfast, heading back outside to her creatures. “And my favourite Gabbykins. Oh, how are you, my lovely?”

“I'm pretty sure she contemplated my death all night.” Draco muttered.

Millicent chuckled, giving Gabby a scratch under her skin. “You're such a clever girl, aren't you?”

Gabby let out a small, agreeable meow, winding around Millicent's legs and pushing her towards the main doors.

“Are you ready to head out? Well, come on then, I'm heading back to my place. Walk with me?”

Gabby immediately fell into step besides Millicent, who waved goodbye at them over her shoulder. People were always secondary to her when animals were around. Harry liked that about her.

“She’s still not convinced, you know,” Draco commented as they approached the Great Hall doors.

“Millicent?”

“No,” Draco said with an unwarranted amount of attitude. “Your mutant cat.”

“She's not a mutant.”

“She's the size of a Thestral, Potter. What would you call it?”

Harry shrugged. “Gabby’s a tough nut to crack. She’ll come around eventually.”

“I’m sure I’ll sleep more soundly knowing that,” Draco said dryly, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes.

Inside the Great Hall, a younger girl, Ricky Richardson, at one of the tables caught sight of them and immediately nudged her friend, her expression turning calculating. She whispered at a furious pace, casting not-so-subtle glances in their direction.

Draco noticed but gave no reaction. Harry smirked slightly, nudging Draco with his elbow. “Got an admirer,” he murmured.

Draco cast a glance at the girl and then looked back to Harry, his voice as cool as ever. “What can I say? It’s the hair.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Or the cheekbones, I suppose.”

“It’s always the cheekbones,” Draco agreed magnanimously. He sounded utterly indifferent but Harry was sure he saw a faint blush creep up his neck.

Apart from her, the few students seated for breakfast were largely engrossed in their meals, not paying much attention. The two of them settled at their usual spot, Draco relinquishing Harry's hand to grab some tea instead. He nudged their thighs together though, leaning into Harry's side and placing his head on Harry's shoulder while his tea cooled, as if it was the most natural position in the world.

And right then, Harry had an odd moment of clarity; this was Draco Malfoy, for all intents and purposed cuddling into his side. And it wasn't awkward at all. He'd expected far more people's scrutiny after yesterday's article, but mostly everyone went about their business.

But more importantly, it didn't feel odd to him. And that was interesting, wasn't it? What had once felt forced now came naturally, the ease of it unsettling in its own way.

###

They ate quietly for a while, the familiar clatter of plates and cutlery filling the air, two ghosts distractedly floating through the tables while deep in conversation.

The sound of wings filled the hall as the morning post arrived. A brown owl swooped down, dropping a letter directly onto Harry’s plate.

Harry picked it up, wiping off porridge before turning it over.

Draco leaned closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Fairweather?”

Harry opened the letter, his frown deepening. “Another blackout happened last night. It's an invitation to join her as soon as possible.” Harry pointed to Draco's name in the letter. “She extends the invite to you, too.”

“Of course. Why invite one free worker, when you can have two.”

Harry grimaced, folding the letter and tucking it away. “I asked her to let me know when something happens. She's just honouring that request.”

Draco snorted, pushing back his plate. “I'll bet you five galleons you'll be required to do something that requires a ridiculous amount of magic before we leave.”

Harry shrugged, a smile threatening to split his face. He could feel his magic dancing inside of him at that prospect. “Probably. But you can't argue it won't be a change of scenery.”

Draco stood, lithe and graceful as always. “If I want a change of scenery I go to my beachfront vacation home in Cornwall. Or our little cottage in Cotswolds.”

Harry stood, falling into step besides him. “Really? Two vacation homes?”

Draco huffed, but Harry knew he was secretly smiling. “In England, yes.”

“You are such a posh bastard, I forget that sometimes,” Harry said, bumping their shoulders together.

“Hm. You better watch your language, or you won't be getting an invite to either.”

Harry brightened. “Oh, is that on the table? I've always wanted to go to Cotswolds.”

“Instead of a quick weekend trip, you're dragging me to some Auror investigation. You suck as a host, Potter. Should’ve known this was coming when I slept on that sofa,” Draco muttered, low enough so no one overheard, giving Harry a sidelong glance. “Clearly cursed.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

“Oh, I doubt that, Potter. Chaos is your forte, not mine. I'm more the type to relax in moderate luxury.”

Harry grinned, thinking of the modern opulence of Malfoy Manor. “Moderate, my arse.”

They'd just left the Great Hall when Draco leaned back, checking out Harry's backside. It took the tug on Harry's arm for him to realise they were holding hands. “Nothing moderate about that, Potter.”

Chapter Text

Fairweather had organised a Portkey, as the blackout had occurred in Glenveagh National Park in Ireland.

They needed to get to the Ministry, take the Portkey to a neighbouring town which still had magic and then head to the blackout scene from there.

Both armed with an overnight backpack, they stepped out of the castle and began the familiar trek down to Hogsmeade. The air was warm for early summer and the sky clear, a reminder that despite whatever awaited them, the world outside Hogwarts was still moving along in its usual way.

“What about Gabby,” Draco asked suddenly.

Harry smiled. Even if she wasn't his biggest fan, the concern in Draco's voice was touching. “She knows if I'm not there to feed her, Millicent will. She just goes there.”

“Oh.” Draco thought about it. “Pretty sweet setup you have. Though I am surprised she doesn't just head to both of you for meals. She'd balloon. And not in the way she has since I met her.”

Harry, who'd done a lot of research on the topic when he first got her, broke into an impassioned speech about how animals with weight issues and constant signs of hunger aren't just ‘like that’ but were being fed subpar food. Because of this, they had to eat more just to fill their nutritional needs, thus taking on weight.

“Nutritionally starving your pet while it gets bigger and bigger just because you don't want to spring for the more expensive and healthier food seems cruel,” he finished, just as they entered Hogsmeade. “You should probably think about whether you deserve pets that rely on you if you make them unhealthy. They don't get things like diabetes in the wild!”

Draco patted his hand. “Gabby is lucky to be stuck with you, I can see that.”

Harry harrumphed, the subject always riling him up, not that he spoke of it often.

They entered the Three Broomsticks, Melisande greeting him warmly but it was nothing to the greeting Draco received. She flung her arms around him, kissing his cheek in a way Harry found inappropriately overenthusiastic.

“Draco! Oh, I've missed you. How have you been?”

Draco gently removed her arms from around his neck, all the while smiling charmingly at her. “Fine, thank you. Busy, but fine. How was Spain?”

She beamed at him. “Wonderful, as always. You should come visit me there sometime.”

Harry felt a prickle of annoyance. He'd always liked Melisande, she had a good head on her shoulders. But apparently, all level-headedness went out the window when Draco entered the equation.

Draco tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk on his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Right,” Harry cut in, more abruptly than he intended. “We need to use the Floo.”

“Of course, of course. Head over to the fireplace. You know the drill.”

They wasted no time moving to the large stone fireplace, Harry reaching for the Floo powder. He grabbed Draco's hand, threw it into the flames, which roared to life in their signature green hue, and named the Ministry of Magic as his destination. Harry stepped into the flames, followed closely by Draco, disappearing in a swirl of emerald light.

Harry stumbled slightly as they stepped out of the Floo in the Ministry's atrium. They headed to Fairweather's office, ignoring the stares they got. Right. These people weren't quite as used to seeing them as the Hogwarts residents. Or, they gave credence to what Price had written.

They had to cool their heels for a good twenty minutes before they were handed a Portkey, landing in a small, picturesque village nestled among rolling hills. The charm of the place hit him immediately – quaint cottages with stone walls lined the narrow streets, their windows adorned with flower boxes overflowing with blooms. The air was crisp, and the village seemed untouched by the chaos that awaited them further along. It was the kind of place where time felt slower, where people likely knew each other’s names and waved to one another from across the street.

For just a second, Harry saw himself living in a place just like this, with a little cottage to call his own. When Draco entered the daydream, Harry slammed his mental brakes. Right, enough of that.

Unlike Harry, Draco seemed unaffected by the peacefulness of the village, his expression remaining composed as ever.

It was Grayson who approached them first, his sharp eyes scanning them from head to toe

“I see you brought a date to work, Potter.”

“I see you didn't. Still living alone?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Draco raise an eyebrow at his impertinence.

“Draco, this is Grayson. We went through Auror training together. Grayson, this is Malfoy. He's here on behalf of the Daily Prophet.”

“Nice to meet you,” Grayson said, shaking Draco’s hand.

“Likewise.”

There were a few Aurors scattered about, some talking with locals who seemed concerned but not panicked. But then, this village was untouched by the blackout. The neighbouring one hadn't been so lucky.

“This one’s nice,” Draco muttered, more to himself than to Harry, his eyes flicking over the ivy-covered walls of a nearby cottage. “Pity we’re not here for leisure.”

Harry only nodded, glancing around at the small group of locals gathered near the town square. There was a kind of idyllic peacefulness here that felt at odds with the situation they were being called into.

Grayson motioned for them to follow. “The blackout hit a village further in – nestled in a forest up north. I’ll have to side-along Apparate you, the Floo there is still down.”

Grayson stepped closer, holding out his wand-free hand. With a nod to Draco, Harry allowed the Auror to grip his arm, and in a sharp twist of motion, they were gone.

They reappeared in another village, this one just as lovely at first glance as the one they had left. The cottages here were more spaced out, surrounded by towering trees that rose majestically around the village as though protecting it from the outside world. The air was fresh, and the late morning sunlight dappled the streets with patches of light. It should have been perfect, but something felt wrong.

It hit Harry immediately, just like Diagon Alley; the absence of magic. The village was quiet, only a few people in the streets, their faces strained. Harry wondered how many people had lost their magic here last night.

Draco popped into existence beside him with Grayson.

“Fairweather should be up there,” he pointed towards the edge of the village, where the trees got thicker until it was just forest. “Oh, and I'm supposed to inform you that this village is no longer hidden from view.” Grayson explained, his voice low as he gestured toward the cottages. “It used to have five hundred year old wards, strong ones, too. It was sort of famous for those around here. But whatever drained the magic took them down, they’re completely gone. So if any Muggles wander this way, they’ll see everything. We'll have to recast the standard enchantments once we're done here.”

“We'll keep that in mind,” Draco said.

Grayson gave him a short nod. ”You're to check in with Fairweather first. And she gave me this for you,” he pulled out a pocket-sized Dark Detector. “It’s a combination of a Sneakoscope and Secrecy Sensor. We’ve had some luck with it on the previous sites. It’s yours until the case is closed. Now, I have to head back.”

A loud pop and he was gone.

“Charming fellow,” Draco said, his tone dry.

Harry snorted. “Uptight arsehole, more like.”

Draco took in the scene with a measured glance. It was as though the village was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen, but all that came was more silence.

“Just as beautiful as the first one,” Harry said to fill the silence.

“Yes,” Draco agreed, his tone raspy. “But without magic, it just feels dead.”

###

The day had been long and unproductive. Harry had spent hours sweeping for magical remnants, checking for anomalies, and working with the Aurors to comb through every detail. And yet, nothing stood out. No feathers or bird tracks anywhere. Maybe the bird could cause this destruction from the air?

The idea felt wrong. Surely it took some time for this amount of magic to vanish? But without concrete clues, it was hard to make sense of it.

Draco, meanwhile, had been interviewing the locals all day, digging up what little information they had. As expected, he didn’t come back with anything of real use either – just vague sightings of shadows in the woods or strange sounds at night. But none of it pointed them in any particular direction.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, Grayson reappeared, his face as tired as Harry felt. For once, they didn't snipe at each other. "We’ll reconvene tomorrow. The sweep will happen first thing in the morning. We’ve arranged for you two to stay at a Bed and Breakfast in the village you first arrived in. Can you get there by yourself?”

Harry nodded, too exhausted for much else. He took the hastily written note Grayson helped out. “The Silver Shamrock Inn,” he read. It included the exact address and a quick sketch to show its location. “We'll find it. I just need to find Draco first."

With a final nod, Grayson turned away, leaving Harry to find Draco in the local pub, chatting to an elderly landlord and a handful of locals. They had a quick dinner there before heading out, apparating to the town over and following the map to their destination.

The village streets were quiet by now, with most of the locals having retreated indoors. The charm of the cottages and the peaceful surroundings didn’t quite reach Harry – there was a weight to the unproductive day that hung in the air, the frustration lingering in his chest.

They arrived at the Silver Shamrock, a cosy stone cottage with ivy crawling up its walls, warm light spilling from the windows. It looked welcoming enough, though Harry could have slept in a barn, he was that tired.

Draco opened the door, stepping inside with his usual air of unbothered elegance. Harry followed, grateful to finally be off his feet. The innkeeper greeted them with a polite smile, pointing them toward their room. "All set for you both. Hope you enjoy your stay."

It wasn’t until they reached the room and Draco opened the door that the reality of the situation hit.

A small fireplace, an en-suite bathroom. A table with two chairs crammed in the corner. And a neatly made double bed that dominated the small space.

Draco stood in the doorway for a beat, his eyebrow raising just a fraction. "Ah. Well. That’s... unexpected."

Harry, who had been halfway through unbuttoning his jacket, stopped short. He blinked at the bed, then at Draco, feeling his face heat. "Well… At least our story still holds?”

"Clearly," Draco said, stepping into the room and tossing his backpack on the nearest chair. "I suppose we’re sharing."

Harry cleared his throat, awkwardly trying to recover from the sudden realisation that he’d be spending the night next to Draco Malfoy in a bed. "Right. I mean... that's fine.”

"Of course it is," Draco said, utterly unphased. He busied himself by removing his boots, acting as though the situation was completely ordinary. "We’ve shared plenty of space before."

"Not like this," Harry muttered under his breath, but Draco didn’t seem to hear, or if he did, he chose to ignore it.

There was a brief stretch of silence as they both went through their evening routines, each trying to make it seem as though the shared bed wasn’t a big deal. But the tension was there, hanging in the air between them like an uncast spell.

Harry brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face, glancing into the small mirror above the sink. He could feel the awkwardness building. The longer he stayed in here and dragged it out, the worse it would be. His mind spun as he walked back into the room, finding Draco already settled on one side of the bed, flipping through a small book he’d brought with him.

Without a word, Harry climbed in on the other side, keeping as much distance as the bed would allow. The room felt small, the space between them even smaller.

"You’re overthinking it," Draco said, not even looking up from his book.

Harry glanced over, surprised. "What?"

Draco sighed. "The bed. The situation. Relax, Potter. It’s just a bed."

"Right," Harry muttered. “What are you reading?’

“The book Beatrice wrote.”

Harry peered at it in disbelief. “Why?”

“Because it's something she's proud of. Something she wants to talk about. Me reading it will make that possible. Plus, I like different points of view. Reminds me that people can be quite opposite and still have the right idea.”

Harry turned towards him, propping his head up with one hand. “But why? Do you not want to hurt her feelings?”

Draco laid the book face down on his chest, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It's not that. Not really. I'm not lying when I say I'm interested in the subject matter. But… if I read this, it will make future interactions with Beatrice easier.”

“You do that a lot, don't you? Ingratiate yourself like that.” When a scowl formed on Draco's brow, Harry was quick to add, “in a charming way. I don't mean that as an insult.”

Draco deflated. “You're right, I guess. It makes things easier.”

“How so?”

Both book and glasses were moved to the bedside table before Harry got his answer. “I think being liked is important to me because of my past. It's easy to hate an ex-Death Eater. I have to work harder for people to accept me.”

Harry nodded. He wasn't sure if the question burning on his tongue was wise, but there was something very intimate about their current situation. “But you were acquitted of that,” Harry said softly.

Draco's eyes met his. “But we both know that was a fluke. A chance I don't want to squander.”

Harry couldn't help it, he wanted to know. Quietly, he asked, “How did your mum do it?”

The look that came onto Draco's face had Harry immediately regretting his nosiness. He looked… anguished. “I don't know,” he said, the words raw. “I have some suspicions, but she never told me. When I ask, she just smiles and tells me to make the most of my life.”

“And you do,” Harry pointed out softly. “Your work changes minds for the better, I've seen it before. Hell, look what you did after my reputation tanked after the war. It's a slow battle, I'll give you that. But it works.”

“Sometimes, I allow myself to believe it.”

Harry smiled wryly. “Other times not so much? Yeah, I know that tune.”

Draco’s mouth quirked into a sad smile. "We’re not so different, are we? Both of us trying to live up to something we aren't convinced is our true self." He sighed, eyes drifting to the firelight flickering across the walls. “Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, I’m always one step away from being back where I started. That thought scares me enough that I don't stop. I can't.”

Draco’s wry smile was elusive, a rare flicker that reached his eyes. Those smiles he rationed out sparingly. But when it appeared – just the smallest curve at the corner of his mouth – it had a strange way of holding Harry’s attention.

“Maybe that's what changing, evolving, is truly about," Harry said softly, his gaze steady on Draco. "It’s not about running away from where we started but… finding ways to make peace with it.”

Draco’s eyes flickered with something vulnerable, his usual mask slipping further. "And what if it’s something we can’t make peace with?”

Harry shrugged, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Then maybe it just means we keep trying, even when we think it’s impossible. Keep proving ourselves wrong.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the fire casting warm shadows across their faces. Harry felt the pull again, a quiet certainty in the space between them. It was rare, finding someone who understood these things without judgement, without all the layers of bullshit. Even Ginny had had that; ideas of who he should be.

This was the reason why Harry had stopped dating people from the magical world, why his liaisons had inevitably ended up being with random Muggles; they didn't know him, there were no expectations to live up to and no mess to contain should the relationship sour.

Though granted, the longest relationship he'd had with a Muggle had been three weeks. It was difficult getting close to someone when you had to hide away the biggest part of what made you you.

With Draco, though, he didn’t need to pretend. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like he had to keep parts of himself locked away. And that feeling tugged at him with its newness.

“There really is something to be said about someone having seen the worst of you, isn't there?” he said, trying to distill his revelation into some light-hearted words.

Draco shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “I'm used to pretending.”

Harry wanted to point out the difference; that there was pretending to people you weren't close to and there was an undeniable beauty in being utterly yourself with the people you cared for.

He didn't, though, because it felt horribly presumptuous and Draco looked out of his depth already. Instead he said, “It's not necessary with me. I just wanted to point that out.”

Draco thought about it, his face unreadable. “Okay.”

Harry grinned at him, but it was half-hearted, today's events catching up to him. He muffled a yawn. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Draco yawned outright, one elegant hand coming up to cover his mouth.

His libido woke, images of this night ending rather differently than planned assaulting his mind. Judging by the way they kissed, sex with Draco would fry his mind. It was an intriguing thought.

He glanced at Draco and immediately decided against it. Draco didn't just look tired, he looked like this heart-to-heart had taken it out of him, like he wasn't used to it at all. Maybe, even, like these new feelings frightened him.

So Harry quashed that train of thought, lying back with his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling, contemplating that little development. He wondered why he hadn’t ever thought of it before today.

“Turn off the light, would you?” Draco mumbled. “Your wand is closer.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, fatigue making his speech slur. He waved his hand and they were bathed in darkness.

There was a beat of silence, then, “Is it habit to use your wand? You clearly don't need it.”

Harry snuggled into the comforter, which was soft and fluffy and perfect. “It makes people uncomfortable when I don't.”

“Hmm,” Draco hummed, his voice deep with the onset of sleep. “I think it's the opposite for me.” He yawned again. “‘I just wanted to point that out.’”

Harry blinked slowly. What? “How do you mean?” he asked, the words coming out slowly.

He waited, but there was no reply. Draco's breathing had evened out.

He'd have to ask him tomorrow, he told himself, before closing his eyes and falling off the cliff.

###

The next morning, they were back at the blackout site. Aurors surrounded them, discussing their next move. They had bagged and tagged all evidence, though it had been precious little. When Harry saw the list of random items, he felt like they were added to the evidence more to just have something to add, and not for their intrinsic value of helping anyone close this case.

What remained was resetting the wards, making the village safe from prying Muggle eyes. Everyone would head to one of several strategic points around the perimeter, helping set them. Harry had seen the magical flags scattered through the trees and at the edges of the village, marked by some poor sod who had to have been awake at the crack of dawn.

Grayson was taking point, Fairweather having stepped back to let him handle the explanation. He stood before them, hands gesticulating with each sentence. There was even time for questions afterwards. Grudgingly, Harry had to admit Grayson wasn't all bad at this Auror stuff.

He sent them off and everyone found a mark. Draco stood to Harry's right, barely visible through the trees. They were both well outside the village boundary, deep enough in the forest that he couldn't make out a single home.

“ON THREE,” came Grayson's magically enhanced voice. Harry raised his wand, his mind set with concentration. “ONE… TWO… THREE!”

As one, they sent out shimmering pulses of magic, the air around them humming with power. Thin, glowing threads began to weave together, forming an intricate net that hovered above the village like a spider’s web spun of pure energy. The threads shimmered and crackled, extending farther with each passing second, closing in as they overlapped and linked, tightening to a perfect lattice.

Pulses rippled outward, undulating as they combed through the area, seeking any trace of a magical imbalance. The hum grew louder as the net stretched to its full size, the Aurors’ magic syncing in perfect harmony, forming the ward that would protect the place.

The village lay quiet beneath the dome, bathed in glittering reflections. For a long moment, nothing happened, the magic connecting, settling while they all still powered it.

Then, out of the corner of Harry’s eye, something moved in the underbrush in front of him, well inside the net they were casting. A flash of something horned, something furry and quick. It darted between the trees, startled, barely visible, and then it was gone.

Harry frowned, turning to Draco, shouting, “Did you see that?”

Draco glanced toward the spot where the creature had disappeared, his wand still raised, holding the connection. “A hare, I think,” he called back.

“It had horns,” Harry muttered. Just as he exhaled, letting it go, another flicker of movement drew his attention. It was small, fast, and running at full speed towards the magical dome they were still feeding their magic into. It hit, the net snapping, magic rippling where the creature crashed through, as though the air itself had torn for a split second.

Whatever it was, it hadn’t just passed through the net. It had completely severed the magical connection of the ward between Harry and Draco, like… like it had been absorbed.

Draco had already disengaged from the net, running towards Harry. “Okay, I saw that. And I felt it.” His voice was clipped. “That was no hare.”

The creature – whatever it was – now outside the dome, was heading deeper into the forest. Without thinking, Harry dashed after it, Draco right on his heels.

His heart pounded as the two of them charged through the underbrush. The trees grew denser around them as they pushed deeper into the woods, twigs snapping underfoot, branches whipping past their faces. The forest floor was deceptive; it looked stable but the moss made them sink in deep, like running through sand and hampering their progress significantly.

After a few yards the ground changed to something harder and they sprinted through the thickening forest trying not to lose line-of-sight. Excitement bubbled in Harry's veins, escaping in a happy laugh, only heightened by Draco keeping pace.

His calves burned as he picked up speed. He could hear Draco right behind him, his breaths coming in quick bursts as they wove between the trees. Harry’s focus narrowed on the darting shadow ahead. It was incredibly agile, its smaller size a distinct advantage here.

At first, Harry had thought it a hare, but whatever they were chasing was bigger than he'd first imagined. He could feel the surge of magic in the air as it bounded through the forest, leaving an almost electric charge in its wake. Which was good, as it was clearly outrunning them.

“There!” Draco shouted, pointing as they burst through a clearing. Harry barely registered his own speed as they pounded after it. The creature darted between trees, its horns catching the sunlight for a split second before it disappeared again.

It did have horns!

Harry swore under his breath as they dodged between thick patches of brush. He nearly tripped over an exposed root, twisting his ankle enough for it to smart, but he kept going. His wand was ready, but no spell seemed appropriate. If this was the animal they were looking for – and why didn’t it have wings, for Merlin’s sake? – wouldn't it just absorb a spell?

He glanced back at Draco, who had a look of concentration on his face.

To Harry the thrill of the chase was exhilarating, like something out of a long-forgotten adventure. For a moment, he could almost ignore the seriousness of the situation as his adrenaline pushed everything else out of his mind. They were chasing after something, and for once, he knew exactly what he had to do: run.

They weaved deeper through the woods, branches slapping against their arms as the creature increased the distance between them. Harry saw it running up an incline before it vanished from view.

By the time they'd climbed it, there was no sight of it. From here, the forest gave way to a ravine – a steep, mostly dried-up riverbed cutting through the trees below.

Harry sent out his magic, pushing it into the ravine, looking for the creature. It was much deeper than he'd first anticipated.

There.

Below, through the trees, Harry caught the clearest glimpse yet. The creature stopped for the briefest moment, its sleek form silhouetted against the forest floor.

A hare, but the size of a Rottweiler. And horns. Sharp, curved horns, like those of a deer, crowned its head, glowing, like something out of a fable.

Harry froze, breathless, as the creature locked eyes with him from about a hundred yards away. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. The air between them crackled with magic, charged with something wild.

"Bloody hell," Draco breathed beside him, eyes wide. “That’s no ordinary hare.”

Its ears twitched as it crouched low, as if unsure on how to proceed. And then, before either of them could react, four figures in dark clothing appeared from downstream, a tall one leading them. He had his hood pulled over his head, blond hair escaping along the base. His wand lay flat on his palm, following its direction.

When they caught sight of the animal, he used his wand to let purple liquid pour from it. It seemed to mesmerise the hare into stillness as it pulled the purple magic towards it.

They moved with purpose, surrounding the horned hare while it paused in a trance-like state. The creature tensed as soon as the purple liquid ran dry, its horned head low as if ready to fight. It didn’t get the chance.

They all raised their wands, and with a quick motion, a golden magical net was spread over the creature, pinning it to the ground. The animal bucked once and screamed, its glowing horns dimming as the spell took hold.

Harry’s heart clenched with indignation. “Hey, stop that!” he yelled, his voice echoing across the ravine.

Next to him, Draco let out an exasperated sigh. “Salazar’s sake Potter! There’s something very wrong with you.”

But Harry wasn’t backing down. He had been chasing the creature, yes, but he'd never intended to hurt it. His hand went instinctively to his wand, ready to confront whoever these people were.

His shout had done enough, though. In an instant, they abandoned any subtlety, forming a line along the ravine’s base, the hare-creature subdued into immovability under the net.

The blond leader raised his wand. Not towards them, but the creature. Golden light slid from the animal, sucked into the wand.

Then he turned toward where they stood. A beat of silence followed – an electric tension hanging in the air that Harry could practically taste – before the leader unleashed a spell, purple shooting from his wand.

Harry barely had time to register the incoming wave of magic before his instincts kicked in. He threw up a Protego charm, the shield snapping into place just as the blast hit. For a brief moment, he felt the force of the attack collide with his magic, his shield holding – but only just.

However, the sheer power of the blast was unlike anything he had faced before, ripping magic from him in great, painful chunks.

It wasn't enough, he realised, utterly shocked. The Protego Maxima shattered, and the surge of magic knocked him off his feet, but not before the purple stream of magic connected right with his chest. His body hit the ground hard, the sound of the magic ringing in his ears as he struggled to maintain consciousness, but the darkness pulled him under.

###

When Harry came to, the world felt distant. His head throbbed, his limbs were heavy, and worse than the physical pain was the hollow feeling inside him. Panic washed over him.

The familiar hum of his magic, the comforting energy that had always been a part of him, was gone. He felt empty.

Draco knelt beside him, his face drawn with worry. “Harry.” His voice quieter than usual. “Are you okay?”

Harry tried to sit up, but it was as if every inch of his body was anchored in place, heavy and unyielding, resisting even the smallest movement. “I,” he muttered, the exhaustion pulling at him even as he spoke.

He couldn't feel his own magic.

Draco’s eyes widened with concern. “You can't feel your – That wasn’t a normal spell, it was amplified. Overloaded..” In a whispered tone he added, “It shattered your Protego. And then the second spell – they tried to drain you. But the Aurors showed up and they Disapparated.”

That was a lot of information. All Harry could focus on was, “I thought you couldn't read my mind.”

Signs of stress showed on Draco's face. “I usually can't, your magic runs interference.”

Harry tried to smile. “Don't have any to spare.” He had experienced magical exhaustion before, but nothing like this. “I need to get back to Hogwarts.”

Draco nodded sharply, standing and turning to Grayson and the Aurors who had gathered around them. “He needs to go back to Hogwarts. Now.”

Grayson frowned. “We need him here. We can’t just send him away now.”

“Are you not hearing me?” Draco snapped, his frustration barely contained. Harry almost smiled at his haughty tone, which caused Grayson to take a step back. “He needs time to –” Draco caught himself before using the wrong words. “He needs time in a familiar place to recuperate. Wouldn't look good if you got a consultant hurt on your watch.”

Grayson hesitated, glancing down at Harry, who was still slumped over, his breath shallow and raspy. “Alright. We’ll send him back, but we need him in fighting shape as soon as possible. Whatever those people did, we’re going to need him.”

Harry’s vision was still swimming, but he caught someone sending off a Patronus and shortly after a young wizard came running towards them, a large bag in his hand.

Grayson gave him a curt nod and rummaged inside it before handing Draco a small, worn object – a Portkey. “You'll need to come in for a debriefing immediately.”

Draco ignored him with aristocratic ease. He snatched the Portkey, crouching back down beside Harry. “Ready?”

Harry nodded weakly, gripping Draco’s arm as the familiar pull of the Portkey yanked them away, sending him back toward Hogwarts and, hopefully, the rejuvenation he so desperately needed.

###

The world spun as the Portkey dropped them at the edge of Hogwarts’ wards. Harry, who hadn't gotten up, rolled slightly, but Draco was there in an instant, grabbing him by the arm to steady him.

“Honestly, Potter,” Draco muttered, his tone sharp, but undercut with concern, “you could’ve just ducked. But no, you had to throw up a shield like you were invincible.”

Harry tried to smile, but even that took effort. “It worked, didn't it? For a little while, at least.”

“Worked for a second and left you flat on your back,” Draco snapped. He dragged Harry's arm over his shoulders, pulling him to an unsteady stand and practically hauled him toward the castle. “You always have to be the hero. Maybe if you weren’t so trigger-happy, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Though Draco’s words were harsh, Harry could hear the worry behind them. He glanced at Draco, noting the tightness in his jaw, the strain in his expression. Draco wasn’t angry – he was worried.

“I’m fine,” Harry said softly.

“You’re not fine,” Draco shot back. “You’re practically dead on your feet. I’m not made for physical labour, you know?”

As they made their way up the path toward the castle, the air shifted suddenly, and Harry felt a familiar presence. Gabby appeared ahead of them, bounding gracefully across the grounds. She had grown again, now significantly larger than a lion, her sleek fur rippling with power as she came to meet them.

“Gabby,” Harry muttered, smiling faintly at the sight of her. “You’ve been busy growing, I see.”

Gabby let out a low rumble, circling around them before nudging Harry gently with her massive head. The warmth of her presence was comforting, even though Harry was too drained to properly greet her. She flanked them as they continued toward the castle and Harry draped his free arm over her, her large form providing a pretty decent crutch.

By the time they reached his quarters, Harry was ready to collapse. Draco muttered the password and helped him inside, practically dragging him over to the sofa. Before he could settle down, Gabby tried to curl up on his chest the way she always did, but this time, her weight was crushing.

“You’re a bit too big for this,” Draco chided, nudging her toward Harry's feet. She huffed, clearly displeased, but moved without protest, settling in with an intense gaze that made it clear she wasn’t going anywhere.

“She’s not letting you up until you’re back to full strength, is she?”

“Seems like it,” Harry murmured, his eyes already beginning to slide shut.

Just as Harry was about to settle in further, Beatrice, from her portrait across the room chimed in, her arms folded as she observed the scene with a knowing smile. “Ah, magical exhaustion. That’s a bad case you’ve got there, dear,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’re lucky you didn’t turn yourself into a Muggle. I’ve seen it happen, you know?”

Harry sighed, leaning back against the cushions. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “That’s what they all say before they collapse again. Rest. Let your magic come back naturally. You'll be fine, Gabby will make sure of it.”

Draco gave Harry a pointed look. “See? Even the portrait agrees with me.”

Harry closed his eyes, too tired to argue. “‘S Bullshit,” was all he could muster up.

Gabby purred loudly, finally settling at the end of the sofa as if satisfied that he was staying put. With the weight of exhaustion pulling him down, he knew that, between Draco and Gabby, he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

He might as well rest.

Chapter Text

After a few days, Harry was feeling closer to himself again. The magical fatigue had finally started to fade, though his impatience hadn’t. Restless as ever, he spent every spare moment on the Quidditch pitch, pushing his body to make up for his limited magic.

When his bag from Ireland was returned to him, he found himself idly tinkering with the little Dark Detector inside – a way to keep his hands busy and his mind focused, if only a little.

As Harry toyed with the Dark Detector, he found his thoughts drifting. The birthday party invitation Draco had casually extended the last time he'd been here, combing through Dumbledore's journals again, came to mind. Thankfully Draco had told him there would be no presents, for which Harry was grateful, as he wasn't sure what you got your sort-of fake boyfriend, anyway.

With a sigh, he put the Dark Detector back on the bookshelf. He had several hours to kill and since he got back his full magic, he might go for a walk in the Forest. He called for Gabby and they headed out, his lion-sized cat bounding up ahead of him in excitement.

###

That evening, Harry Apparated to Malfoy Manor for Draco’s birthday party. He chose to walk the driveway, passing up the guest carriages lined up along the path. It was nearly dark, but the way was well-lit, and the mildness of the evening air helped steady him.

The Manor’s transformation had already made an impression on him before, but tonight it felt even more surreal. The estate glowed softly under the twilight sky.

He nodded at the house elf that opened the door at his knock and walked through the wide entrance hall, passing both familiar and unfamiliar faces without much thought, his eyes scanning the place for one person only.

As befitted a Malfoy birthday party, the guests were elegantly dressed, a mix of Ministry officials, reporters from the Prophet, and old Hogwarts acquaintances. Champagne glasses floated on trays between clusters of conversations, and soft music played from the enchanted instruments hovering near the ceiling.

But Harry’s focus stayed elsewhere, searching the crowd for a glimpse of Draco. He moved further into the grand living area, the large sunken fireplace glowing in the centre, where a group of guests had gathered. Draco stood by the doors leading to the garden, left open to allow in a gentle breeze. He looked up just when Harry entered the room and their gazes connected. Draco’s face shot into a genuine smile. He winked at Harry.

Harry’s breath hitched in his throat, and despite the crowd, the tension that had built inside him seemed to ease just a little.

Draco was talking to Theodore Nott, but his eyes kept tracking Harry's movement. The space between them seemed to fizzle as Harry made his way across the room, his heart beating faster with every step. As soon as he reached Draco, he leaned in for a quick peck on the cheek – just enough to keep up appearances.

“Happy birthday,” Harry said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. Draco's cheek was warm and his arm slung easily around Harry's waist. He held a glass in the other, with the kind of poise Harry had rarely seen in anyone else – fingers splayed just so, his movements deliberate and graceful, like he knew eyes were on him. Harry's certainly were.

Draco’s smile deepened, his grey eyes locking onto Harry’s. “You made it,” he replied smoothly. Harry could hear the contented warmth in his tone. “Thought you might decide to hide out at Hogwarts.”

Harry chuckled softly. “Wouldn’t miss this.”

“Ah, Potter! Draco’s just been telling me about the Prophet's latest nonsense about you two.” Nott joined the conversation with an obliviousness to a private moment that was staggering. “It’s a pity Draco isn't allowed to write his own piece.”

Draco gave a long-suffering sigh. “We've decided to just let it slide off our backs. It was bound to happen, considering who he is.”

They shared a quick exchange about the Prophet, but Harry’s attention was distracted by the feeling of the crowd shifting. He turned just in time to see Ron and Hermione enter the room, both looking slightly out of place, eyes scanning the space. Harry’s stomach dropped in shock. What were they doing here?

Before he could react, Draco followed his gaze and, with a smoothness that only Draco could manage, murmured, “I invited them.”

Harry’s confusion deepened. “You what?”

“They’re your best friends, Harry,” Draco said, his tone matter-of-fact but with an edge of something warmer beneath. “I thought it was time you made up with them.”

Harry blinked, still processing. It had been weeks since he’d had that conversation with Ron and Hermione in the courtyard. And yet, here they were, at Draco’s birthday party.

“Go on,” Draco nudged him lightly, his voice lowering. “Go talk to them. You need to fix this.”

Draco was right, damnit. With a small nod, Harry took a deep breath and started toward his friends.

He stopped a few paces away from them, nerves suddenly making his throat feel tight. They stood together, Ron fiddling with his sleeves while Hermione, her baby bump visible in her floral dress, glanced around the room, her expression guarded. Neither of them looked entirely comfortable. And still they'd come. They were trying, so the least Harry could do was try himself.

Hermione caught sight of him. Her eyes softened, and she nudged Ron, who looked up with an unreadable expression.

“Hey,” Harry said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended.

“Hey,” Ron echoed, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Hermione gave Harry a small smile, though it was tinged with tension. “Quite the party, isn't it?”

“Draco knows how to host.” Harry scratched the back of his neck, feeling suddenly awkward. “I didn’t expect to see you two here.”

“Malfoy invited us,” Ron said, his tone neutral but firm. He shrugged, his gaze flicking to Hermione for a moment. “Said we should sort things out.”

Hermione nodded. “He was… well, it was unexpected, but he seemed sincere. He thought you might need some friends around.”

The words hit Harry harder than he expected. Draco had gone out of his way to invite Ron and Hermione, to give him a chance to patch things up. It was an oddly sweet sentiment.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Harry admitted. Honesty was always a good place to start. “I’ve missed you.”

A genuine grin broke on Ron's face. “Yeah, mate. We’ve missed you too.”

Hermione stepped forward, her expression softening further. “We didn’t handle things well. We were worried, but we should have trusted you.”

Harry felt some of the tension ease out of his chest. “I wasn’t exactly easy to talk to, either.”

They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Hermione reached out and pulled Harry into a quick hug. “Let’s not do that again, okay?”

Harry hugged her back, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. “Yeah. Let’s not.”

Ron clapped him on the shoulder once Hermione let him go. “So… the Prophet’s articles about you two recently were… quite something. How are you dealing with them?”

His tone was casual, an invitation to rag on the newspaper, but Harry didn't want to tarnish their newfound truce by lying to them.

Instead he changed the conversational direction. “Those articles were written by Evan.” His wrists with the Unbreakable Vows tingled and he encircled it with the fingers from his other hand.

Hermione winced at his statement. Ron blushed. Right. Another topic he should probably steer clear of.

Ron looked at him, then at Draco across the room, before letting out a long breath. “I guess it makes sense. Somehow.” He thought about it, then nodded. “Alright then.”

“Alright?” Harry asked, unsure what to make of Ron’s statement.

“Yeah,” Ron said, his tone lightening just a bit. “Alright. You’ve always had crap taste, besides my sister of course. But if it works for you, I’ll deal with it.”

Hermione nodded. “We, too, have learned that it's a bad idea to involve ourselves in your love life. We should have caught on sooner, after the war. We were some of the people arguing the loudest against your choice. I see now that we did more damage than good. We weren't very good friends, were we?” She clapped her hands together. “Now, we just want you to be happy. Which seems difficult with how it's all dragged out in public. You sure you're okay?”

“I'm learning to accept that I can't control what's being said about me,” Harry said, surprised to realise he was telling the truth. “It doesn't reflect on me as a person.”

Hermione nodded. She'd never been in his shoes, no one had. They might empathise, but they wouldn't ever understand, not really. And that's just the way it was, no changing that.

He sought out Draco across the room, their eyes meeting. Warmth filled his chest as he smiled and got a genuine smile in return.

“Draco is… surprisingly easy to get along with. He's different now,” Harry said, feeling like he had to explain, but also knowing that words wouldn’t fully convey what had changed between him and Draco.

“Yeah, we’ve noticed,” Ron replied, giving Harry a knowing glance. “And if he can deal with us, maybe he’s not so bad.”

“Which is good,” Hermione added with a nod. “Because we’re not going anywhere.”

###

Later that evening, the hum of conversation quieted when Draco stood at the front of the room near the sunken fireplace, a glass of champagne in hand. With a slight tap of his glass, the room’s attention shifted to him. His face shone, composed as usual, but softer somehow. And devastatingly beautiful.

“I won’t keep you long,” Draco began, his voice carrying easily over the now-silent crowd. He absently adjusted a ring on his finger, and Harry felt a flutter of something he couldn’t name. “But I just wanted to thank everyone for coming tonight. It’s lovely to have you all.” His eyes flickered toward his mother, who nodded almost imperceptibly, her regal posture as commanding as ever from her wheelchair.

“My life as it is now wouldn’t be possible without some of you. I'm very grateful for it. And, of course,” Draco’s gaze moved deliberately to Harry, who stood close by, slightly off to the side. He felt all eyes land on him. “There are people here who have made more of a difference than I could have ever imagined.”

A small ripple of laughter swept through the crowd as Draco lifted his glass. “To all of you, thank you. And Harry… well. Thank you for making life interesting.”

Harry felt a flush creep up his neck as the crowd chuckled again, but before he could respond with something appropriate, Ron’s voice cut through the laughter. “Oi, Potter! Aren't you going to kiss the birthday boy?”

The room erupted in cheers and playful applause, Hermione’s voice joined in, both clearly trying to show their support, “Go on, Harry!”

Harry’s gaze darted to Draco, who raised an eyebrow, but didn’t seem phased. Why wasn't he ever bothered by anything? Instead, Draco took a couple of steps toward him, extending his hand. Harry took it.

“Apparently, they’re waiting,” Draco murmured softly, pulling Harry close.

Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he shrugged, sliding his arm around Draco closing the distance between them. Under the watchful gaze of the room, he pressed his lips to Draco’s.

Draco exhaled shakily against his cheek, tension leaving his body as he let Harry take the lead.

The room cheered, but Harry barely registered the noise. Something clicked into place inside of him, a want he hadn't allowed himself to think about in a very long time. He liked the way Draco tasted, the way his lips felt pressed against his own. Draco had gone pliant under his touch and Harry liked that, too. Maybe a bit too much.

Warmth settled in Harry's chest, not just from the kiss itself, but from the realisation that came with it.

He wanted this.

When they pulled apart, Draco’s eyes met his, pupils dilated and lips red. Harry’s heart pounded. He really, really wanted this. Not just now, and certainly not just in front of an audience. There was an undeniable sense of rightness when his skin touched Draco’s.

Draco smiled, a small, private thing meant just for Harry, he was sure of that. “Well done,” he murmured, before turning back to the crowd with his usual composed grace, leaving Harry standing there, his mind whirling as applause filled the room. Throughout it all, Draco didn't let go of his hand, squeezing it as he took a bow, smirking at his guests.

All in all, he looked rather pleased with himself.

###

Harry moved through the crowd afterwards as if in a dream, conversation light and easy, his mind still buzzing from the kiss with Draco. He found himself drifting from one conversation to another, his attention divided between enjoying the evening and subtly watching Draco as he effortlessly navigated the crowd.

He'd just set down his glass on an empty tray, intent on getting another, while making some polite small talk with a Ministry official. He glanced over his shoulder, only to lock eyes with someone he truly hadn’t anticipated seeing tonight.

Evander Price.

Evan stood near the drinks table, dressed to the nines. He looked good, his dark hair shorter than Harry remembered, but his face still as gorgeous, with a square jaw and piercing blue eyes.

His gaze locked on Harry's, as though he'd just been waiting for it, a hint of that roguish smile twisting the corners of his mouth. He winked.

Harry felt his chest tighten. The last time he had seen Evan had been over a year ago. It had been some function, and even then, the meeting had been cold, professional at best. But now, seeing him here, amidst Draco’s colleagues and their mutual friends, brought back a flood of memories Harry had worked hard to bury.

Evan had always had that effect on him – confident, charming, and with just enough edge to keep Harry interested. Unfortunately, that edge also lent itself to him becoming vindictive and petty after their breakup.

Harry forced a breath out and focused back on the conversation at hand, though his heart wasn't in it. He hadn’t expected to see Evan here, not like this, especially not after all the articles Evan had been publishing lately. Each headline seemed more scathing than the last, continuously questioning the authenticity of Harry and Draco’s relationship and painting Harry as little more than completely unstable.

A knot of unease coiled tighter in Harry’s gut. Of course, Evan would be here. He was one of Draco’s colleagues at the Daily Prophet. The connection made sense, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

As Harry excused himself from the conversation, he caught sight of Evan again. This time, Evan lifted his glass in a silent toast, a small, almost mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Without thinking about it, Harry walked over, his feet moving on instinct more than anything. When he reached Evan, the tension broke with a simple, familiar greeting.

“Harry,” Evan said smoothly, his voice carrying that odd mix of overconfidence and warmth that Harry remembered all too well. “I didn’t think I’d see you here tonight.”

Harry forced a smile, though it felt horribly wooden. “Pretty sure that's my line. What are you doing here?”

Evan shrugged, swirling the drink in his glass. “Draco’s a colleague. It’s only natural I’d be here to support him.” His tone was casual, but the look in his eyes wasn't – it made Harry’s skin prickle.

There was a long pause between them.

“You’ve been busy,” Harry said, his voice low, a slight edge to his words.

Evan’s smile didn’t falter. “You’re referring to the articles, I assume?”

Harry didn’t respond right away. Evan’s smile widened, just a fraction, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

“It’s nothing personal, Harry,” Evan said smoothly, though the look in his eyes betrayed him. “It’s just business.”

“Right,” Harry muttered, feeling the tension thicken. He should have never walked over here. “So it's payback, then?”

They had dated after the war, Harry's first relationship with a man. But his growing issues with magical instability and pressure from the people around him had made him give in and end the relationship before it had really grown into something serious. It had been the last time he'd let anyone dictate his life like that.

“I've apologised several times for my behaviour,” Harry said when the silence stretched. Standing here, face to face with Evan again, all the old emotions surged back to the surface. “I made the wrong choice, but I made it. It's done.”

Evan waved a dismissive hand. “Water under the bridge, Harry.” They both knew it was a lie. “Though… Do you ever think about us? About what we had? What we could have had?”

Harry sighed, exasperation creeping into his voice. “That was years ago, Evan. We’ve both moved on.”

Evan’s lips quirked into a bitter smile. “Have we? You sure about that?” He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned back against the wall, watching Harry with an intensity that made his skin prickle. “If I remember correctly, you used to invite me over even after breaking my heart.”

“That, too, was years ago.”

Evan shrugged. “Eighteen months. We've had longer breaks before that. I wouldn't call it moving on.”

“You should,” Harry shot back, his voice firm. “We ended a long time ago. You can’t just stir things up now because you don’t like the way things are. Also, it's been over two years.”

“Ah. Keeping count?”

Harry didn't reply.

Evan’s gaze flicked down for a moment before meeting Harry’s again, something darker flashing in his eyes. “And what about Draco? You’re sure he’s not doing the same thing? Stirring things up to get what he wants?”

Harry stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Evan gave a small, humourless laugh. “Come on, Harry. Draco’s been talking about fake relationships forever. You think this thing between you two is different? I’ve watched him work for years, speak in meetings, and propose articles. He knows exactly how to play the game. And he's ambitious.” Evan laughed. “Got a plan, that one.”

Harry felt a surge of anger rising in his chest. At least Draco’s plans had never involved dragging a seventeen year old student through the mud. “Everyone has a plan, Evan. It's called living.”

Evan straightened, stepping closer, his expression shifting to something more calculated. “I know him better than you think. He’s been using the Prophet for ages. You’re just another cog, a stepping stone.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. He knew Evan’s game – he remembered how Evan could twist things, how he loved to plant seeds of doubt and watch them grow. But that wasn’t going to work this time.

When he spoke, his voice was low and controlled. “I hear what you're saying. But that won't change the fact it's not what I believe. Give it up.”

Evan’s eyes darkened. “I’m telling you this for your own good, Harry.”

Harry shook his head, his anger giving way to cold clarity. “No, you’re not. You’re telling me this because you hate that you’re not part of my life anymore.”

For just a second, Evan looked stunned, like the truth of it had finally hit him. But then he caught himself. Evan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “It’s funny, isn’t it? You were so afraid of what the public might think about us…” His eyes flicked briefly over Harry's shoulder, to where Draco chatted animatedly with Blaise. “It makes one wonder what’s real and what’s just for show. You alway did like your status more than anyone else.”

Harry clenched his jaw. He wanted to say something, to defend what he had with Draco, but the words stuck in his throat. He might want something with Draco, but as of this moment, they really did have nothing but a ruse. Evan had always had a way of getting under his skin, and tonight was no different.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Evan said, his voice softening, but not in a way that offered any comfort. “I won’t spoil your evening.” He grasped his own wrist, right over the Unbreakable Vow's marking. “You made sure of that.”

“I'm sorry,” Harry whispered. He could try to fool his own mind into believing the people around him made him do it, made him talk Evan into making that Vow to keep quiet about them. But back then, it had been for his own peace of mind, too. He'd very much wanted it.

Evan stepped closer, leaning in. “Oh, baby.” A shiver ran up Harry's spine. “It's far too late for apologies.”

Heat pooled behind Harry's eyes. He didn't want this, this anger and resentment in his life.

“Do you want us to dissolve it, will that ease some of the anger inside you, is that it?”

Evan looked surprised, shocked even. But he caught it quickly, slipping back into a mask of indifference. “That would be a start.”

Harry nodded, grabbing Evans arm and pulling him out into the hallway. They found a small, private alcove just beyond the main gathering. The soft hum of the party had faded, replaced by a tense silence that settled between them. Evan stood close, too close, and Harry had to fight the instinct to step back.

“Do it, then,” Evan challenged, holding out his hand.

Harry grasped his wrist, his fingers wrapping around the markings of the Unbreakable Vow. Evan mirrored him.

Harry didn't bother with his wand. He nodded at Evan. “By mutual will, this vow is released. Let the binding be lifted, and freedom restored.”

Evan pulled out his wand and spoke the incantation, too, his wand pressing to the mark on Harry's wrist. Warmth flooded around it, the magic tingling up his arm.

They both watched in fascination as the rope imprint on their skin dissolved, little flakes of magic lifting off and disintegrating in the air.

Harry breathed out. Up until then, he hadn't known how much he needed that. Maybe more than Evan.

Before Harry could fully process the whole thing, Evan moved. Swiftly and without warning, he closed the distance between them and leaned in, pressing his lips hard against Harry’s. It was sudden – so fast that Harry’s mind barely had time to catch up.

For a moment, Harry froze, too stunned to react. The familiarity of the kiss – the sensation of Evan’s lips, the closeness – tugged at old memories. But the curious thing was, they felt distant now, hollow. No spark, no warmth. Just emptiness.

In that split second, all the pieces fell into place. Harry’s mind flashed to the earlier kiss with Draco – the way it had felt so effortless, so right. The connection, the warmth that had settled in his chest, the way Draco had looked at him afterward. It was worlds apart from this. This kiss, with Evan, felt like a shadow of something long gone, a pale imitation of what he now realised he truly wanted.

Draco.

The thought of Draco had him snapping out of the freeze. Harry abruptly pulled back, breaking the kiss with a firm push against Evan's hard chest.

“No,” Harry said, his voice resolute as he stepped away from Evan. And with a clarity he'd seldom felt before he added, “this isn’t what I want.”

Evan looked momentarily surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Harry to push him away, but his expression quickly shifted, a flash of frustration crossing his features.

Harry took another step back, shaking his head. “You don’t get to do this, Evan. Not now. Not anymore. Go write your nasty articles about me. Or don't. I simply can't care anymore.”

Evan’s eyes narrowed, but Harry didn’t wait for a reply. He felt the finality of it settling in his chest, the last remnants of whatever they had shared once dissolving. With one short nod, he stepped back and turned back towards the party.

He'd gone only a few steps when Evan called after him. “You’re making a mistake, Harry.”

“No,” Harry said over his shoulder, his voice steady. “I’m not.”

With that, Harry turned and walked away. He hadn't felt this free in years.

He knew Evan was trying to mess with him, trying to twist things just like he always had, leaving Harry grappling with emotions long since buried but never dealt with. There was no love lost between them, not anymore. But that didn't mean Harry wasn't ashamed of how he'd handled the situation back then. And maybe, afraid, too. Of doing something similar again when the pressure got too much.

For a moment, Evan didn’t respond, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he straightened. “Believe what you want, baby. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

###

Harry made his way back toward the main area of the party, still reeling from his encounter with Evan. He needed to come clean with Draco, not least because he'd just afforded Evan the opportunity to write whatever he wanted. He had no doubt that would somehow include their past and complicate his and Draco’s public image.

For several minutes he walked through the various rooms, his eyes scanning the crowd, but before he could find Draco, a familiar figure intercepted him.

Narcissa Malfoy’s expression was calm, her posture as regal as ever, her hands resting lightly on the arms of her hovering wheelchair. Behind her stood Sunny, the little house-elf as quiet and unobtrusive as ever.

“Harry,” she said smoothly, her voice warm and lovely. If Harry had learned anything from the garden party, this was her gracious hostess tone. “Could you spare me a few minutes?”

“Of course,” Harry agreed.

He followed her out the patio doors, the evening air mild enough for others to be mingling and enjoying the garden. She led him down one of the gravelled pathways, her trusted house-elf never more than a few steps behind. The path snaked around the house and they emerged by a huge greenhouse, taller than a night bus, the white lattice structure filled with different sized glass; smaller at the top where some were slanted to let the warm air escape. It looked impressive even in the dark, though Harry imagined it was beyond majestic during the daylight.

“This is the orangery,” Narcissa explained at his baffled look. “I believe we excluded it from our last tour as it was a bit early in the year. It's my favourite place on the estate.”

“Ah. Tall enough for trees, that makes sense,” Harry muttered to himself, but she nodded in agreement.

Narcissa turned to Sunny. “Please wait for me back at the patio. We won’t be long, Sunny.”

Sunny nodded so deep it might as well have been a bow before walking back quietly the way they’d come.

The two of them headed inside and she gestured to a little bench, turned to face the interior to take in the lush trees, the type seldom seen around these latitudes. Harry sat, marvelling at the citrus smell that permeated the air while Narcissa arranged her wheelchair beside him, turned so it would be easier to chat.

However, she didn't talk, at least not at first. Instead they sat in silence in the fragrant place, both admiring the scenery. Harry smiled when he realised there were butterflies, hundreds of them, asleep under leaves.

He imagined Narcissa here during daylight, butterflies flapping around her, and concluded she probably really was some sort of Disney princess.

“We have a flaw in our family,” Narcissa began, breaking the silence. “We can be very roundabout when it comes to getting the point across.”

Harry suppressed a snort. The sentiment was true enough, but he felt that wasn't the first flaw he'd point out about the Malfoy family.

“Therefore,” she continued, her eyes trained on the closest tree. Lime, Harry thought. “When my son left his own birthday celebration rather abruptly some moments ago, I knew it must have been something serious.”

Harry half-rose, only Narcissa's cool palm keeping him in place. The words hit Harry like a punch to the gut. He blinked. Draco had left? Without saying anything? His heart lurched as the pieces began to fall into place, his stomach twisting with dread.

Draco must have seen the kiss.

A cold wave of panic surged through Harry, his mind racing back to the moment with Evan, to the shock of the kiss and how quickly he had pushed him away. But if Draco had seen it – if he had seen only the worst part – of course he’d misunderstand.

“Narcissa, I –” Harry started, but his voice faltered as he fell back into the seat. The sharpness in her gaze hadn’t softened, and there was no room for excuses. He swallowed hard, guilt clawing at him. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I must go find him.”

“He's long gone,” she said. “There's no finding him if he doesn't want to be found.” Her expression didn’t change, though she lifted an eyebrow. It reminded Harry painfully of Draco. “A misunderstanding?” she enquired.

Harry’s throat tightened, slumping in his seat and the words tumbled out. “Evan kissed me. I didn’t – it wasn’t what it looked like. I pushed him away. But Draco must have seen and come to the wrong conclusion.”

Narcissa’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, but her face remained composed. “I see.” She paused, allowing the weight of the situation to settle.

Harry bit his lip. Regardless of what she'd said, every instinct in him told him to go after Draco. Sitting here felt like torture.

Narcissa nodded before letting her gaze drift over the lush trees of the orangery, her voice soft as she spoke, “We can’t always control where the roots grow,” she said, her eyes still trained on the trees. “And sometimes, even when we think we’re keeping everything in perfect order... Nature has other plans.”

She turned to look at Harry then, her expression carefully neutral, but her eyes sharp as ever. “But I’ve found that, in the end, the roots will find their way. Whether we’re ready for them or not.”

“Uhm…” Harry had no idea what else to say.

Narcissa let the silence stretch between them, her gaze fixed on the trees as if searching for the right words. Finally, she spoke, her tone soft but deliberate, “Sometimes the strongest things are not the ones that stand tall and obvious. They're often hidden. Like a root system under the ground, weaving deep beneath the surface, unseen but powerful. You don’t always notice it, but it holds everything in place.”

Harry frowned slightly, unsure of where she was going with this.

“People,” she continued, “are much the same. We can be quite adept at hiding what matters most, even from ourselves. Fear of being uprooted, of being exposed, can keep us firmly buried. And yet, the ground shifts, storms come, and what is buried must eventually surface.”

She glanced sideways at him, her eyes as sharp as ever, though her voice remained gentle. “And when it does surface, it can surprise even the one who planted it.”

Harry blinked, feeling the weight of her words settle over him. Was she talking about Draco? About herself? His mind ran through the possibilities, but Narcissa’s expression revealed nothing more.

“Roots have a way of growing in unexpected directions, Harry,” she added, her voice insistent now, like she willed him to understand. “They twist and turn. And once they find the right soil, the right conditions... well, they grow strong.”

She gave him a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But of course, you can’t force roots to grow where they’re not ready.”

Harry sat in stunned silence, her words sinking in. It was as though she was handing him pieces of a puzzle, deliberately vague, but with enough meaning for him to sense the outline of something deeper beneath the surface.

“This might be one of those times where you are being too vague,” he said honestly. He was a Gryffindor, after all, she could hardly blame him for his directness.

Narcissa shook her head, as if dispelling the conversation from her mind. “I’m just being maudlin, I do apologise. It's not my place to meddle, anyway.”

“Meddle?”

She shook her head again, clearly done with that part. Instead she cleared her throat. “You know, my son confessed something interesting to me some days ago.”

Harry looked at her in confusion. “Oh?”

She nodded, her gaze settling back on the trees. “He told me the truth about your relationship. That you two concocted it to save the reputation of a young girl.”

Well, that sounded more heroic than it should, Harry thought. “Yes,” he agreed eventually. What else was there to say?

“But you would, I hope, agree with me when I said that a certain fondness has grown between the two of you, yes?”

“Yes. Turns out we get along pretty well.” At this point, he was just glad she wasn't speaking in metaphors anymore.

A genuine smile flitted over Narcissa's regal features, gone so fast Harry wondered if he'd imagined it. She stayed quiet for so long afterwards that Harry began shifting in place.

Finally, she spoke, unhurried, her voice distant and deep in memory. “After the war, when Draco was at his most vulnerable, the Ministry came for him. They wanted to put him on trial for his actions. More importantly, since Lucius was already declining rapidly in Azkaban, they wanted to use my son as a public deterrent. To show everyone what would happen to Death Eaters the Ministry caught.”

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. This was the last thing he'd expected her to bring up.

Narcissa's gaze remained fixed on the trees, her voice calm but laced with something heavy, "I knew the Ministry wouldn’t stop, not until they’d made an example of him. That much had been made abundantly clear to me. I once found a way to save him from the worst the Dark Lord had planned for him. And so, I did it again; what any mother would do when her child is threatened. I found a way."

Harry stayed silent, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes burning. She was being deliberately vague, but the unspoken words lingered just below the surface.

“I found myself sitting in front of Ministry officials. They demanded answers about my son’s involvement with the Dark Lord. Eventually, they dragged me before the Wizengamot and asked me questions about my son, very pointed ones, under Veritaserum. Questions whose answers wouldn't make sense because they hadn't been there. They couldn't understand.”

Narcissa’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, but there was no warmth in it. “But a mother... a mother will do anything for her child, Harry. Anything.”

“How?” Harry whispered.

Narcissa's smile was gentle as she reached out, pushing back Harry's hair. A cool thumb rubbed along his scar. “I forgot. You know all about it already,” she whispered. “Love. Though my price wasn't as steep as the one your mother paid.”

He blinked, feeling like she’d dropped a heavy stone into a still pond, watching as the ripples slowly reached him. The implication hung thick in the air and all Harry managed to do was grasp her thin hand where it rested on her wheelchair. He squeezed it, choking out a, “Thank you.”

For saving Draco from Azkaban, for making sure he was here today. For doing what no one else would.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. That regal mask slid back into place, but Harry knew better now. He'd been allowed to peak beneath and he'd always see her differently.

Narcissa straightened herself, clearly putting that moment behind them. “You see, Harry, when you care for someone, truly care for them, you make sacrifices. You protect them, even when they don’t know it. Even when they might not want it.”

“I'm sure he's very grateful for your sacrifice.”

“My son doesn't know,” she said, her eyes intent on where she was straightening her blouse. “I hope it can remain that way?”

Harry almost laughed, even though the mood didn't warrant it. The Malfoys really were shit at asking for anything outright. “I won't tell him,” Harry said. Past experiences made him add, “though if he ever asks me about it, I'll tell him to speak to you.”

“That seems fair,” she agreed.

“Why are you telling me this, then?” he asked, his voice low.

Narcissa’s lips curled into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Because I need you to understand that the Malfoys don’t always show their true emotions. We hide. We protect ourselves. Even when it costs us dearly.”

She nodded, more to herself, before continuing. “You know, Harry, Draco… he is much like me in some ways.”

Harry tilted his head, unsure of where this was going. Hopefully they weren’t about to talk about roots again. “How do you mean?”

She smiled faintly, almost sadly. “He won’t admit things easily, not even to himself. It either takes a very long time for it to sink in, or we need someone to spell it out for us.”

Harry very much doubted anyone had ever needed to spell something out for her.

Narcissa raised a delicate hand, halting his attempt at protest. “It’s not always easy for Draco to acknowledge his – emotional state. He’s been taught for so long to hide it, to be careful. To never let anyone close enough to truly see him.” Her eyes softened as she looked away. “I imagine he thought this arrangement – this… pretending – was a way to control the situation.”

Harry frowned. “Well, yes.”

“No, I don’t think he even realises it,” Narcissa continued as if he hadn't spoken, her tone still measured, her voice soothing, like she was discussing the weather. “But, perhaps, this whole scheme wasn’t as much about protecting someone else. Perhaps, deep down, it was about protecting himself.”

Harry blinked, the weight of her words sitting uncomfortably between them. That made no sense, what would Draco need to protect himself from?

“Either way, he doesn't do anything without considering all outcomes. And he must have at least suspected…” Suddenly, her gaze was fixed on him, intent shining in her eyes. “You will find a way to make things right, won't you, Harry?”

Harry swallowed, his chest tight. He nodded, though his mind was reeling. “I'll talk to him.”

“My son can be very stubborn when he wants to be. Even more so when he feels jilted. You'll have to be irritatingly persistent.”

Harry grinned slowly. Now there was something he understood. “I think I might just be the perfect person for that job.”

Narcissa looked at him sharply, her gaze softening after analysing his face for a long moment. She shook her head, smiling softly to herself. “I do believe you're right about that, Harry.”

“Do you have any idea where I might find him? I need to clear this up.”

She pulled out her wand and conjured a little card out of thin air. Harry took it. “This is a place we own. The Floo point is written on there. However, it would be best if you don't go there tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Draco probably needs a moment to himself.”

Harry looked at the little card in his hand. “Okay,” he said, though in his mind's eye, he crossed his fingers tightly.

Chapter Text

Harry debated with himself all the way back to Hogsmeade then veered into the Three Broomsticks. Melisande offered him the use of the Floo and Harry thanked her, ignoring all subsequent questions regarding Draco.

He stepped into the green flames, feeling the usual swirl of heat and soot after he read the name on the card Narcissa had provided him with. Though she'd made it clear he'd be unwelcome tonight, he had to see Draco, had to make things right.

He arrived in a small living room, at least small for Malfoy standards. The interior was elegantly furnished, with a large glass front offering a panoramic view of the stormy sea. The sound of crashing waves was audible even through the closed windows, but all he could see through them was the darkness outside.

Apart from that, the place was quiet, and for a moment, Harry wondered if maybe Narcissa had been wrong, if Draco wasn't even here. But then he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye – Draco, sitting near another window, staring out at the sea.

“What are you doing here?” Draco’s voice was flat, and he didn’t turn to look at Harry.

Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward. “We need to talk.”

Draco’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t move. “There’s nothing to talk about, Potter.”

Harry didn’t wait for an invitation. He crossed the room and stood behind Draco, his heart racing. “Yes, there is. You left your own birthday party because of something you saw. Something that wasn’t what you think it was.”

Draco finally turned his head, his eyes cold and distant. “Oh, I saw exactly what I think I saw. You and Evan. Kissing. Fucking Evan Price, of all people!”

Harry’s gut twisted with frustration. “It wasn’t like that. He kissed me. I pushed him away.”

Draco let out a derisive laugh, standing up and facing Harry fully for the first time. “I'm only passing judgement on your horrible choice in men, Potter. You are, of course, free to kiss whomever you wish.”

Something fluttered in Harry's chest. Hope, maybe. “Your speech gets posher and posher the more irritated you are.”

“It's ‘more posh’. And what's it to you?

He hadn't called him a name and Harry had fully expected to be called a philistine or similar. But he hadn't and whatever had been doing the fluttering, died immediately. Draco really was very angry with him.

“I'm sorry.”

“Good for you.”

Harry looked at him helplessly. “I couldn't tell you about Evan before tonight.” He showed his wrist, now with one less golden rope imprint than before, though granted, Harry had enough it was difficult to tell. “We dissolved the Vow tonight. We're both free to talk about our relationship again.”

Draco's eyebrows crept up his forehead. “That was incredibly stupid.”

“No. It was necessary. He hated me for muffling him all those years ago. And I've realised it doesn't matter what people say about me. It only matters what I do.”

A nasty sneer distorted Draco’s features. “And that was to kiss him.” He seemed to remember his earlier words and quickly added, “which is your prerogative, Potter. Though I have to say, your taste is appalling.”

“I didn't kiss him!” A flare of magic striped erupted alongside his outburst, rattling the window behind Draco. Draco didn't flinch, so for the first time in his life, Harry didn't apologise. “He kissed me, I stopped him.”

“I wish you hadn't,” Draco said, his voice glacial. “Then maybe I'd have some peace right now.”

“Urgh, you're infuriating!”

“I didn't ask you to come here!” Draco shouted back at the same volume.

Well. At least Draco wasn't scared because his magic leaked. Silver lining.

Harry took a deep breath, then another. “It was important that you understood,” he said calmly. “There is nothing between Price and me, that soured a long time ago. He likes playing games and kissing me at your party was one of them. I pushed him away. And I'm sorry that's how it went down.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. Not sure why it matters, but fine.”

“It matters because I don’t want you to misunderstand. I wouldn’t choose someone like Price, especially not now. After everything we’ve been through. I thought you deserved to know the truth. Especially since –” Their kiss tonight. For Harry, it had been a revelation. But what if it hadn't been so for Draco?

Draco’s expression didn't crack. “So, you came here to set the record straight? To make sure I didn’t think you’d run back to someone like him?”

“Yes,” Harry said, collecting his courage. “I’ve come to the conclusion, that I don't want anyone else… We, we fit, don't we? I wouldn't have believed it at the beginning, but there's something between us.”

Draco's face went completely motionless. “Yes. A private arrangement and a fake public relationship.”

Harry took a deep breath. “What if it weren't fake?”

He'd expected a lot of reactions, but not the one Draco displayed; as though he had been slapped. He was quiet for so long, Harry got sick of listening to the waves outside.

Eventually, Draco cleared his throat. “Even if we weren’t just pretending, do you have any idea what that would mean? The gossip, the whispers – people would devour it, dissect us. We’d be a spectacle.”

Harry blinked. “We’ve been fake-dating for almost a year, Draco. People already think we’re together. They seem to mostly like you. What more of a spectacle could we possibly be?”

“I meant your actions with Price tonight,” Draco muttered. He didn't stay on the subject though. Instead his expression hardened. “And people like this version of me, you mean. The reformed Malfoy. The one who keeps his head down, smiles at the right people, and makes polite conversation.”

Harry stepped closer, his heart pounding in his chest. This felt far more like the crux of the matter. “What’s so bad about that? What’s so bad about letting people see that you’ve changed?”

Draco’s eyes flashed with anger. “Changed?” He laughed bitterly. “You think I like this, Harry? You think I like pretending all the time? Smiling at people who used to sneer at me, biting my tongue because I can’t afford to make enemies? To constantly be reminded that no matter what I do, I’ll always be a Death Eater? And the worst part is, I have to act like I’m grateful for it. Grateful that they’ve accepted me back into their precious little world. I bloody well don't like it, okay!”

Harry was stunned. He hadn’t realised just how deeply this cut Draco, how much resentment he carried. “Then don't,” Harry said, his voice gentle. “Or do, whatever you choose, I don't really care. If there's one thing this past year has taught me, it's that it truly doesn't matter to me what the public thinks.”

“I'm glad you have it all figured out,” Draco snapped.

Harry shrugged. “Took me looking enough. All I'm saying is; whichever way you feel comfortable with, I'll back you.”

Again, he felt like his words shouldn't elicit such a look on Draco's face, like the words hurt too much to bear.

When Draco didn't respond, Harry took a step closer, his heart aching for him. “ As long as you don’t pretend with me, I don't care.”

Draco scoffed, turning away. “Isn’t that exactly what we’ve been doing? Pretending?”

“No,” Harry said quietly. “I didn't realise it at first but... Not for me. Not for a long time.”

Draco’s back was still to him, but Harry could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “What are you saying?”

Harry swallowed hard. This was it. “I’m saying that it’s not fake for me. I’ve fallen for you, Draco.”

There was a moment of silence, heavy and cloying. Then, slowly, Draco turned to face him. “You’re serious,” he said, his voice flat, but his eyes searching Harry’s face for any sign of a lie.

“I’m serious,” Harry said, stepping forward again. “I didn’t plan on it, but I care about you. And I think you care about me too.”

Draco laughed, but this time it was bitter, almost mocking. “You’re delusional, Potter. This was always fake. Always.”

Harry shook his head. “You don't mean that.”

Draco’s expression twisted into something like disbelief, then anger. “And what? You think because you’ve suddenly realised your feelings, that everything’s going to be fine? That I’ll just fall into your arms?”

“I’m not asking for that,” Harry said, his voice rising. “I’m just asking you to be honest with me. You were hurt when Evan kissed me because you care. You can’t deny that.”

Draco’s eyes flashed with anger. “I bloody well can!”

Harry took another step forward, his frustration boiling over. “That’s not what this is about, and you know it. You care, Draco. You just won’t admit it.”

Draco’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. “ And you know me better, do you? Got me all figured out?”

More than you've figured out yourself, Harry didn't say. He wasn't suicidal.

Harry’s voice softened, “Why can’t you just say it? Is it that scary to you?”

“Because I can’t!” Draco shouted, his voice breaking. “I can’t admit it because it’s not real. It’s never been real, and I’m not going to let myself get caught up in something that’s destined to fail.”

Harry felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He stood there, staring at Draco, his heart breaking with every word. “You’re lying to yourself.”

Draco’s eyes flickered, but he shook his head, his voice cold and final. “You should leave.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment, hoping for some sign, any sign that Draco would crack, that he'd admit it, if not to Harry, then to himself. But Draco just stood there, his walls firmly in place.

Finally, Harry nodded, his chest tight with pain. “Fine.” He turned and walked toward the Floo. “But I think you're wrong. You like me and for whatever reason, you're afraid to admit it.”

Draco snorted. “Good to see your ego is still intact.”

Harry bit his tongue on a nasty reply. This evening was bad enough.

Just before he stepped into the green flames, he glanced back at Draco.

Draco hadn’t moved.

With a heavy sigh, Harry stepped into the Floo, leaving Draco behind.

###

Harry paced the front of the classroom, his wand twirling lazily between his fingers. The students were busy practising shield charms, their spellwork occasionally sparking or fizzling, but for the most part, they were managing. His usual energy for teaching, the enthusiasm that once carried him through the day, felt like it had dried up. He went through the motions, offering corrections here, a nod of approval there, but inside, there was a hollow weight he couldn’t shake.

Draco was avoiding him. And it was worse than any fight they might’ve had because there was nothing to fight about – just silence. He didn’t even have the satisfaction of anger, just this gnawing sense of absence.

Gabby was curled up in the corner of the classroom, her enormous bulk taking up almost half the space near the window. She had started following him everywhere lately, her massive presence a constant reminder that she, at least, wasn’t going anywhere. Her fur shimmered in the soft light filtering in through the window.

“Good, Roberts,” Harry said absently, watching one of the students deflect a weak spell. It didn’t even hit the wall behind her, but Harry could hardly muster the energy to care.

“Professor?” a voice called out, tentative. “Did I get it right?”

Harry blinked, realising another student had been waiting for him to respond. “Yeah, just… tighten your stance. You’re leaving your left side open.”

The kid beamed, clearly happy with the advice.

Harry cast a quick glance toward Gabby, who lifted her head slightly, her golden eyes watching him intently, like she alone knew he was phoning this in. She let out a low, rumbling purr that seemed to fill the room, though it was more comforting than distracting.

The class dragged on, each minute stretching longer than it should. When it was finally over, Harry dismissed the students and slumped into his chair at the desk. He rubbed a hand across his face, staring blankly at the empty room.

Gabby padded over, her massive paws thudding softly against the stone floor. She nuzzled his side, her fur warm against his skin.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, even though he wasn’t. Not really. He reached up and scratched behind her ear, the weight of her presence grounding him slightly.

Gabby let out a huff, making it obvious she wasn't buying it, before settling down at his feet, her purring filling the room once more. Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

The classroom felt too big, too quiet. More worryingly, his entire life felt like that.

Chapter Text

Harry lay on his old sofa, staring absently at the shard of the eggshell he had been fiddling with for the last twenty minutes. The iridescent piece was gleaming with a faint, rainbow-like hue that shifted with the light. Gabby was out in the woods, which allowed him to handle the eggshell for this long unmolested. She'd grown obsessive with it and Harry had started only taking it out in her absence.

The sitting room was quiet, except for the birdsong drifting in through the open window and the gentle tinkling of Harry's fingernails clicking against the eggshell. He had been trying to make sense of it all, but his mind kept wandering back to Draco. It was almost instinctual, how he wanted to share every discovery with him, to discuss every idea he came up with, to see Draco’s eyes light up as they pieced together the mystery.

The sound of a gentle cough brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Beatrice standing in her frame, adjusting her gown as if she had just arrived from some grand event.

“Ah, there you are, Harry,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. “I haven’t seen you in a few days. How is my darling Draco? I had such a lovely chat with him about my book.”

Harry sat up to look over the back of the sofa. He tried to smile but it crumbled before it could take shape. “I… don’t know. Haven’t seen him much lately.”

Beatrice’s brow furrowed, her painted features shifting into something like concern. “Oh no. Did you have a row?” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

Harry chuckled, but it was a hollow sound. “Not exactly. It’s... complicated.”

Beatrice waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. Life’s too short for complications. Draco’s a smart boy. He’ll come around.”

She looked around the room, her eyes settling on the small shard of the egg in Harry’s hand, which was dangling over the back of the seat while he held himself in an upright position to speak to her over the back of the sofa. Her expression changed immediately, her eyes widening. “Oh, my stars, is that what I think it is?” She stepped closer to the edge of her frame, her hand pressed to her chest. “Is that from a Velthuring?”

Harry blinked, glancing down at the shard. Then he sat up straighter. “It’s from the creature causing blackouts. We found this shell in a cave and believe it to be from the creature, or at least somehow connected with it. Because it certainly isn’t bird-shaped.”

Beatrice’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Oh, I haven’t seen one of those in forever! My word, they’re magnificent creatures. Aren’t they just beautiful? Though I’m surprised you've seen one, I was under the impression they went extinct during my lifetime.”

Harry’s mind whirred. “Can you describe the creature?”

“Of course I can, dear,” Beatrice said, her tone slightly haughty as if the answer should have been obvious. “It looks like a great horned hare, simply huge. Majestic, really, especially when they get their wings. I guess there’s also their state at birth, which is a fluffy chick about the size of a hen, though that state only lasts for a very short time.”

Harry frowned, his thumb running absently along the edge of the shard. “Wings? It doesn’t have wings. Just horns.”

Beatrice’s expression took on a frown. “Hmm. From what I know, they hatch as chicks as they need the beak to get out of the shell. Then they evolve into hares with wings and horns. But they're magivores, Harry, just like your Gabby. They don't stay in that chick phase for very long. Indeed, they shouldn't. They wouldn't be able to leave their nests without wings. My tutor boasted he once saw a young ones first flight, but I never quite believed him, if I'm honest.”

“Wait. You’re saying it’s not fully evolved yet? And what's a…” he got up and moved to his desk. He needed to take notes. “Magivore, you said? It eats magic?”

Beatrice nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. It eats ambient magic until it has enough to evolve. That's why the mothers choose the most remote areas. It's believed that while the mother nests, she infuses the area with more magic so the young one can evolve quickly. Once it’s finished its transformation, they're magnificent. A hare with horns and wings, at home wherever there is an abundance of magic. They level it, you see. Absorb the excess to keep it from causing serious issues. You don't want to mess with magical buildup, Harry. That's very dangerous.”

“I know,” Harry muttered. Christmas at the Burrow had been just him. What would stored up ambient magic do? It was too wild to contemplate.

His mind raced. The creature hasn't evolved yet. This explained why it was still draining magic. He frowned. “We have several sites this creature – what did you call it again?”

Beatrice spelled it out for him. He scribbled it into the parchment. “This Velthuring –” he read, seeing her nod, “has drained a lot of magic. Including ancient wards and the centre of Diagon Alley. How much more does it need?”

“Oh, that's not right,” Beatrice said, frowning. “It should have evolved several times over. These creatures aren't malicious, Harry. They don't nest around human settlements. Usually the ambient magic around their nest is enough. There must be something wrong with it, poor thing.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, thinking of the four figures in the woods that seemed to know exactly how to subdue it. And then the leader had turned his wand towards them and broken through Harry's Protego charm like it was made of fragile glass. Not even Voldemort had been powerful enough to block his Expelliarmus. But this guy hadn't even looked worried.

His first instinct was to tell Draco, to send him a message immediately, but the thought hit him like a brick wall. He stared at the shard in his hand, his excitement dampening as the realisation of Draco’s absence settled over him again. Fairweather, right. He'd have to tell her, too.

But he couldn’t leave this unsaid to Draco, not when the information was so important. With a heavy sigh, Harry stood, summoning his Patronus. It took him three tries and it looked oddly wispy when it appeared. Harry decided not to dwell on that while he relayed his message.

The stag bolted from the room, disappearing through the wall at a full gallop.

###

Three days later, Harry trudged through the corridors of Hogwarts, barely noticing the vibrant life of the castle around him. The portraits chatted amongst themselves, students hurried to class, and enchanted staircases shifted with their usual randomness, but to Harry, it all blurred into background noise. They were nearing the end of term, most students sweating over OWLs or NEWTs, while the rest were giddy with excitement about returning home for the holiday in a couple of weeks.

Gabby, who almost reached his shoulder at this point, padded beside him, her enormous paws making surprisingly little sound on the stone floors. Every now and then, she nudged him, but Harry offered only absent pats in return, his mind elsewhere.

The routine was starting to grate. He’d always loved Hogwarts, loved teaching here. But without Draco – without their shared sense of purpose, their exchanges – it felt like he was just going through the motions. His lessons were well-received, the students did their work, and yet, it all felt mechanical. Hollow.

Like he'd seen colours for the first time, only for that ability to be cruelly taken away, leaving him seeing the same things but all in shades of boring grey.

Harry arrived at Headmistress McGonagall’s office and knocked. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to this conversation.

“Come in,” her sharp voice called.

Harry entered, straightening a little. McGonagall sat behind her desk, her glasses perched low on her nose as she reviewed a stack of parchment. She glanced up and gave him a brief nod.

“Harry,” she greeted, though her tone was all business. “Thank you for coming. Everything alright?”

No, Harry wanted to say. Draco hasn't spoken to me in weeks and sometimes, it feels like I can't breathe.

“Of course. Everyone is excited for the holidays.”

McGonagall nodded, her eyes flicking to Harry with a careful, measured look. “And how is Mr. Malfoy?” She asked the question as casually as she could manage, but Harry could hear what it cost her. She had never fully embraced the idea of him and Draco, but in her usual composed manner, she was trying in the only way she knew how.

Harry smiled faintly, appreciating the effort. It wasn't her fault that her words unwittingly caused his stomach to plummet, after all. “He’s fine. Busy with the Prophet.”

McGonagall pressed her lips together in a thin line, her expression unreadable. After a moment, she sighed, clearly deliberating her next words. “I must admit, I thought this... arrangement between the two of you might be a short-lived affair. But I see I've been proven wrong.”

Harry’s smile widened slightly, even through his discomfort. “I believe it surprised a lot of people.”

McGonagall gave a tight nod, her brow furrowing slightly. “Just – be careful.” She paused for just a second before adding, “both of you.”

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Harry said and meant it.

McGonagall cleared her throat, swiftly changing topics. “I wanted to discuss next year’s arrangements. We’ve talked about this before, and I believe it’s time you seriously considered taking over as Head of House for Gryffindor.”

Harry sighed internally. She’d brought this up multiple times over the last few years, and he’d always dodged the responsibility, not wanting the extra burden.

“Professor,” he began, “you know I –”

“You’re the natural choice,” McGonagall interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. “The students respect you, and you’ve been here long enough. Gryffindor needs strong leadership, and you’ve proven yourself time and time again.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, searching for a polite way to decline. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I think it –”

“Harry,” she cut him off again, her expression softening just slightly. “You are ready. And if not now, when?”

Before he could respond, a loud hoot echoed through the office. A large, regal-looking owl swooped in through the open window, landing on McGonagall’s desk with an envelope clutched in its talons. Harry’s heart jumped in his chest. For a fleeting moment, he thought it was a letter from Draco. He chastised himself for being an utter fool.

But as the owl shifted and the envelope became visible, his interest was piqued. The seal was from the Ministry.

McGonagall raised a brow as she retrieved the letter and handed it to Harry. “It seems you’ve got urgent mail.”

Harry took the envelope, breaking the seal with a sense of detachment. Inside was a short, crisp note from Head Auror Fairweather:

Harry,

We’ve apprehended the individuals involved in the magical blackouts. They are currently in our custody. If you wish to attend the interrogations, they will begin this afternoon.

Fairweather.

Harry read the note twice before it fully sank in. They had caught them. The people responsible for the blackouts – the ones tied to the creature. A flicker stirred in him, a mix of relief and something darker. He hadn't been involved in their apprehension, and considering how much skin he had in the game, that rankled.

“Well?” McGonagall prompted, seeing the shift in his expression.

“They’ve caught the ones behind the blackouts,” Harry murmured, folding the letter and slipping it into his pocket.

McGonagall’s eyes sharpened with interest. “That’s good news, surely?”

Harry nodded, though he wasn’t sure if he felt the same relief. “Yeah. I’ll need to go to the Ministry this afternoon.”

She nodded, all business. “I will take over your lessons for the rest of the day. You'll make sure that whoever is turning people into Muggles is properly apprehended.”

He forced a small smile. “I will. Thank you, Headmistress.”

As he turned to leave, McGonagall’s voice stopped him once more. “And do think about the Head of House position. You’re more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

Harry gave a noncommittal hum, but his mind was already on the coming interrogation. As he left McGonagall’s office, Gabby joined him, her amber eyes watching him closely.

He scratched behind her ear. “Looks like I’ve got somewhere to be. I'll need you to hold down the fort, okay?”

Gabby let out a grumpy chirp, brushing against his side as they made their way down the corridor.

###

Harry’s Patronus had already vanished, heading off with a message for Draco, but there was no guarantee Draco would come. The lack of communication between them lately left Harry unsure of everything. Still, it didn’t stop the restless anticipation brewing in his chest as he left Hogwarts.

When he stepped into the Ministry, it was all too familiar, the austere walls and cold lighting doing little to settle his nerves. A young Auror met him at the lifts, leading him briskly to the lower levels where the suspects were being held. And, as expected, Grayson was already waiting for him by the entrance, arms crossed, his expression as welcoming as a Dementor at a birthday party.

“Potter,” Grayson said, his voice tight, “you’re not needed for this. The Auror office has everything under control.”

“That's not what Fairweather said,” Harry replied, stepping past him without breaking stride. “I’m here to make sure we get answers.”

Grayson shot him a withering look. “We have protocols for a reason, Potter. Not everyone gets to storm in and play hero.”

Harry stopped, turning back to him. His magic crackled at his fingertips, itching to break free, to force Grayson into silence. Pushing down the urge, Harry narrowed his eyes. “And while you follow your precious protocols, people’s lives are on the line. But I’m not here to discuss this with you. I’m here because I actually give a damn.”

Before Grayson could retort, the young Auror at the door gestured for Harry to step through, mercifully cutting the exchange short.

The interrogation chamber was like a smaller version of the Wizengamot, the room encircling a stone floor where three haggard-looking men sat chained to their chairs; the ones who had started this whole mess. They sat in a semicircle, their eyes dark and expressions defiant. Hooded robes draped over their shoulders and one kept tugging at his magical cuffs, as if he'd get anywhere should he free himself.

As Harry made his way to a seat, a soft shuffle of movement to his left caught his attention. He turned just in time to see Draco being led into the room by another Auror. For a brief second, relief flooded Harry. Draco had come. But then Draco gave him the slightest of nods – formal, distant – and Harry’s heart sank.

Not what he’d expected. Even less what he wanted.

Draco sat down beside him, his posture straight, gaze fixed on the accused. His usual sharpness, his charm, all of it was replaced with an impassive mask. And though they sat close enough to speak, there was a canyon of silence between them.

The Auror at the front began the interrogation, his voice echoing off the stone walls. The three men stared forward, seemingly unfazed by the questions being thrown at them. One, the man with the black hair, responded with a sharp, “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” each time. The others said nothing, stone-faced and rigid. Veritaserum wasn’t allowed yet, as this wasn't an official trial, so these bastards could lie until the cows came home, and they knew it.

Harry’s fingers tapped against his leg, restless. His magic surged within him, a wave of frustration, the need to shake the truth out of them nearly impossible to subdue. It hummed, the pull of it strong, and he wanted to force them to speak, to make them admit everything. His hands tightened into fists as he fought the impulse to release his power.

Beside him, Draco finally leaned in, his voice low. “Would you calm down? This is a preliminary hearing.”

Harry glanced at him. “What's it to you?”

Draco gave him an eye roll. Well, at least they were communicating again. “The one who cast the spell. He’s not here.”

“The blond guy, yeah. Apparently, these are all they apprehended. They're hoping for clues of his whereabouts.” At least that’s what the young Auror who’d walked him in had told him in a brief update. “Can you read them?”

Draco shook his head. “They’ve all trained at Occlumency. They’re quite proficient.”

They both turned back toward the interrogations, where the Auror in charge was wrapping up another round of useless questions.

Harry snuck another look at Draco, who'd leaned back and crossed his legs. He always looked as though he were posing for a portrait when he did so, utterly relaxed yet precise and graceful. He had this way of leaning back, arms draped loosely, his whole posture somehow both at ease and guarded. Harry couldn't look away, and at least it eased the magic boiling under his skin.

A good fifteen minutes later, the Auror turned to them. “Potter, anything you want to ask?”

Harry stood, pulling the shard of the eggshell from his pocket and holding it up. “What about this?” His voice cut through the air, sharp and demanding. “The creature this came from. What were you doing with it?”

The men exchanged glances, their faces carefully blank, but the one who was still trying to get out of his cuffs looked nervous.

“We don’t know anything about that,” the third muttered, his voice flat.

“Bullshit,” Harry snapped, taking a step forward. His magic pulsed again, dangerously close to the surface. He could feel it boiling under his skin, aching to break free. He could make them speak without Veritaserum. It would be so easy. “You made the Velthuring hatch before it was ready. You syphoned magic from it.”

The man with the dark hair smirked. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Draco shot him a sidelong glance. “Easy, Potter,” he said so quietly, Harry almost didn't hear him. “Your magic is leaking.”

Harry exhaled, forcing himself to relax, to shove the magic back down. It wasn't easy. And Draco, sitting beside him but feeling a million miles away, wasn’t helping. Every instinct screamed at him to make these men tell the truth.

He sat back down, his gaze still locked on the men. “I'll find the blond guy that was with you,” he said, his voice eerily steady. “He won't like it when I do.”

###

The moment they stepped out of the interrogation room, Harry’s mind was racing. His magic was still buzzing beneath his skin, unsatisfied, desperate to break free and force the truth out of those bloody criminals. But he knew better – he had to keep it in check.

Draco had already started walking away, his steps clipped and purposeful, but Harry wasn’t going to let this silence linger any longer. He caught up with him just as they reached the far end of the corridor. "Draco, wait."

Draco stopped but didn’t turn around. His shoulders were tense, and Harry could tell he was trying to keep his composure, trying to maintain that infuriating mask of calm.

“I just wanted to say,” Harry stumbled over his words, unsure how to begin. “I’m sorry. About what happened at your birthday party. And afterwards.”

Draco finally turned, his expression carefully blank. “It’s fine, Potter.”

“No, it’s not. I should’ve –”

“You should have what?” Draco’s tone was dry. “You’re free to kiss whoever you want, remember?”

“But that's not true, is it?” Harry said quickly, his voice more forceful than he’d intended. “If that were the case, we wouldn't be fighting. We’d be kissing.”

A flush bloomed on Draco's cheeks. Good.

Before Harry could speak again, Draco folded his arms and shifted the conversation. “Listen, there’s something else. I’ve been looking into the case.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Draco shrugged. “I followed a lead,” Draco said, voice low, glancing around the hallway as if to make sure they weren’t overheard. “I questioned some people, they eventually pointed me near the town of Glenfinnan.”

Harry frowned. “That's close to Hogsmeade.” He also wondered if ‘questioning’ for Draco really meant reading someone's mind, but he thought better than to ask.

“It is,” Draco confirmed. “On the other side of the Forbidden Forest.”

Harry watched him closely, curiosity piqued. “And?”

Draco exhaled, rubbing his temple. “The locals said something was going on in the forest. Some of them were really scared. They reported it, but the Ministry just told them that odd things would happen in a magical forest. They blew them off.”

“What’s happening there?”

“I don’t know, not exactly. Something magical, but I couldn’t get more than that.”

“Lots of magic in the Forbidden Forest for the creature to absorb,” Harry thought out loud. Draco nodded tersely.

“So. Do we check it out?” Harry asked. He tried his utmost to ignore the thrill of anticipation that went through him.

Draco hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I hate the Forbidden Forest. Always have.”

Harry’s heart sank a little, but he nodded. “Yeah, I remember.” And he did. But somehow he was sure Draco’s rejection had more to do with him.

They stood in silence again, the noises around them nothing but indistinct murmurs of people going about their business.

“Well,” Harry finally said, “I’ll check it out myself, then.”

Draco let out a frustrated sound. “I just knew you'd say that. Do you actually have a death wish, or are you just too idiotic?”

Harry couldn't suppress a smile.

“Are you smiling, Potter? Because I swear if you are, I will hex you with something so nasty your ancestors will feel it.”

Harry grinned wider.

“I can't believe you're making me go into that damned forest! If I die, I will haunt you. Only you.”

“Don't worry,” Harry said, his whole being soaring. “I'll protect you.”

Draco glared at him so fiercely, Harry thought it might be a non-verbal hex. “You better,” Draco growled. He turned, muttering to himself, “Bloody Gryffindors, I swear.”

###

They decided it would be prudent not to wait too long. And so, after a quick stop at home for the essentials, Harry and Draco made their way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest from the non-Hogwarts side, the thick tangle of trees looming ahead like a barrier. It was dusk, and the air grew noticeably cooler as they approached, a damp, earthy scent that tickled Harry's nose.

Harry could feel the slight tension in Draco’s steps beside him, the rigid posture that betrayed the unease despite his attempts at keeping a calm façade.

“You sure you want to do this?” Harry asked, glancing sideways at him. His voice was casual, but a hint of amusement curled at the edge of his words.

Dracos glare was immediate and clearly visible in the fading light. “Fuck off, Potter.”

“Right,” Harry said, unable to stop a grin from creeping up. “It's just a forest. Filled with creatures that could kill you. Nothing to worry about.”

Draco shot him a sharp look but said nothing, his eyes narrowing as they crossed the threshold into the forest. The trees were casting long shadows that twisted into unfamiliar shapes, the mossy underground causing them to sink in ankle-deep.

Harry pulled out the modified Dark Detector Fairweather had lent him all those weeks ago. It hummed softly, nothing out of the ordinary for the forest. It was supposed to alert them to fluctuations in the magic, be it too much or too little.

“I’m surprised you haven’t hexed me yet,” Harry teased as they walked deeper into the woods, his hand brushing against Draco's by accident.

Draco gave him a long-suffering look. “What, and lose my human shield? No, thanks.”

Harry let out a soft laugh. “We could have stayed at the castle, you know. Maybe have a nice cup of tea while someone else does the hard work.”

Draco didn’t dignify that with a response, but Harry noticed the way his fingers tightened around his wand. Despite his mostly composed exterior, Harry could sense the tension humming beneath Draco’s skin.

“You hate this, don’t you?” Harry said, his voice gentler now.

“I’m fine,” Draco replied through gritted teeth.

“You’re scared.”

“I said, I’m fine.”

Harry stopped, forcing Draco to halt beside him. He pulled out the Dark Detector again. No change.

He tilted his head, giving Draco an exaggerated look of concern. “It’s okay to be scared. You know, just because you’re out here with me doesn’t mean you have to pretend you’re not human.”

Draco glared at him, his jaw set stubbornly. “I’m not scared, Potter.”

“I am.”

Draco shoved him, hands on chest. “You're a fucking liar. No, you’re not.”

They started walking again. Harry's chest, where Draco's hands had been, tingling.

“Not right now,” Harry conceded. “But I do get scared. It's normal. I'm not going to judge you for it.”

“You would be the fucking first,” Draco muttered, eyes intent on the forest floor so as not to trip over roots, Harry supposed.

“And I also think it's kind of charming that you start swearing when you're stressed.”

“I'm not fucking –” Draco broke off. Instead he just glared at Harry.

“See. It's kind of cute.”

“Cute?” Draco fumed. “I'll give you cute, you fu – bloody bastard. First you drag me into this abomination and then you have the audacity to call me names.”

Harry laughed. “I called you cute. That doesn't fall under calling someone names, I don't think.”

“You don't think. That's mostly the problem.”

Harry smiled. He could do this all day. But first, he grabbed Draco's wrist, turning him so they were face to face. Now was as good a time as any. Better, probably, because Draco couldn't run away. “I really am sorry for what happened on your birthday. It meant nothing. I pushed him away immediately.” Harry took a deep breath. Time for some honesty. “The only one I wanted to kiss that night was you.”

Draco stared at him in disbelief. “Potter,” he said, his voice scarily low. “We are in the Forbidden Forest, about to be eaten by something large and nasty. And you have the utter gall to confess to wanting to kiss me? Now?”

Harry shrugged. “I haven't just thought about kissing you, that much I can tell you.”

“Will you shut up!” Draco’s voice was quiet but shrill. “You can't just walk around saying shit like that.”

Harry clasped his hands behind his back, looking up at the tall trees. “I can,” he said. “And I will. Your mother told me you'd be thick-headed and that I'd just need to be tenacious. This is me being tenacious.”

Draco grumbled something, stomping so loud everything in the forest had heard them by now. But at least he wasn't scared anymore. Harry counted it as a win.

They continued walking, Harry's constant banter easing the tension in Draco’s shoulders. But as they ventured deeper into the forest, the light dimmed further, the air growing heavier with every step. Harry’s senses were on high alert, his magic buzzing beneath the surface.

Once or twice, the Dark Detector vibrated more intensely, but no revealing or detection charm found anything of note.

“This is ridiculous,” Draco grumbled. “We're looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

Harry shrugged. “We could split up.”

That earned him a glare. “You're hilarious, Potter.”

Harry extended his arm in front of Draco. “Or, you could hold my hand.”

Draco smacked it away. Harry laughed.

“We'll find it,” Harry said, his voice full of confidence. “These things usually have a way of working themselves out.”

Draco snorted, though a sound to their left made him step closer, his shoulder bumping Harry's. “You just attract these situations.”

Well. He wasn't wrong.

They walked for a good forty-five minutes when the Dark Detector gave the first indication of a real problem up ahead.

“It has very short range,” Harry whispered, placing the cumbersome thing on the forest floor. He'd need both hands for this. “It's probably just through that thicket.”

Harry sent a tendril of magic to the densely growing clump of bushes. They unravelled their long twigs, forming a little archway for them to squeeze through.

Harry went first and he paused at what he saw.

The clearing opened up before them, a wide expanse where the trees seemed to recoil, as though the forest itself was trying to distance itself from the scene. The ground was unnaturally bare, stripped of all life, the grass withered and dead. The oppressive weight of magical depletion hung thick in the air, making Harry’s skin crawl.

In the centre of the clearing lay a body – pale and lifeless, splayed on the ground as if dropped there without care. Harry's magic stretched out automatically, but there were no signs of life; not a single breath, no heartbeat.

For one terrifying split-second, Harry's heart jumped into his throat as he saw a shock of pale hair. Draco.

But then realisation sunk in. Of course it wasn't Draco. Draco was behind him.

Harry turned to check, just to make sure. He had to. But Draco was there, alive and well, even if his eyes were wide as saucers.

He wasn't lying on the first floor, dead.

It was oddly quiet here, Harry realised. No bird song, no hum of magic, no creatures crittering underfoot.

He turned back to the body, a chill running down his spine. The missing bad guy, the leader.

Draco took a step forward. “Is that...?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry muttered, his voice low. “The fourth handler, the one who threw that spell at us. He’s dead.”

They approached slowly, Harry casting several non-verbal spells to ensure this wasn't a trap or that the creature was waiting for them nearby.

They all came back negative. “There's nothing here,” he said. “No living creature. No magic.”

“I can't hear anyone think nearby, either. Though they could be shielding.”

Draco's hand had wrapped around Harry's wrist, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he enjoyed the touch.

“The creature was here,” Draco surmised. “It started absorbing magic again. He was in the way. Maybe it's growing stronger and just one guy wasn't enough to subdue it?”

Harry nodded. “I agree.”

Draco’s face paled, his eyes darting around the clearing as if expecting the creature to still be lurking nearby. “And if it did this to him...”

Harry nodded grimly. “It’s not nearby, I checked. Nothing is nearby. But it could do the same to anyone. We have to stop it.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The forest was eerily quiet, the only sound their breathing.

Draco shifted beside him, his voice quieter now. “Maybe now that all four are accounted for, it'll be able to evolve?”

There was a beat of silence. “Let's hope that's how it goes,” Harry said, wishing dearly that would be the outcome. “Best case scenario, we never see the poor creature again.”

Draco nodded, his hand sliding into Harry's. He squeezed and Harry thought it was to hide the fact that it was trembling. He squeezed back.

“Come on,” Harry said. “We’ll have to tell Fairweather about this. Wait – I just have to make sure she'll find the place.” He held up his free hand, feeling the magic surge through his veins. From his open palm, a bright silver glow erupted, twisting into the shape of the Ministry’s stylised ‘M’ as it soared upward. It hovered in the air, flickering with power. The magical symbol pulsed once before rising, spreading with an unspoken command, illuminating the sky above the treetops.

“You're such a showoff, Potter,” Draco muttered. But he was staring upwards, his awed tone belying his words. And he didn't let go of Harry's hand.

Harry couldn't help but smile.

###

Days passed in a slow blur, the tension between Harry and Draco easing, but not gone completely. At least they were speaking again, which they did a few times, their conversations still awkward, but less fraught than before. Draco had promised to come by that evening, and while Harry tried not to let his hope rise, there was a quiet anticipation humming under his skin.

He sat in his quarters, grading the last papers for this school year. Two more days, and all the students would return home for the summer holidays. He loved his students – well, he mostly loved his students – but his favourite time was during the summer holiday, when they and most teachers left and he could roam the hallways of Hogwarts at his leisure. It felt like only his then, the magic thrumming under the stone wherever he went.

Maybe this year, Draco would like to join him on a nighttime excursion or two.

He leaned back, stretching in the warm light of the setting sun. Gabby lounged beside him, her massive body curled up by the empty fireplace. She lifted her head occasionally, her golden eyes blinking open when Harry moved around the room, but for the most part, she seemed content to nap.

Harry glanced out of the window for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. The seventh years were done with their NEWTs, enjoying the last few sunny days at Hogwarts. Small groups sat outside in the grass, watching the sun set over the lake.

From the moment Draco had said he’d come by after finishing some work at the Prophet, Harry had had difficulties concentrating in anticipation.

He got up and headed to the tea Pippet had graciously provided. It was cold but he drank it down anyway, before pulling up his joggers absentmindedly. He hardly ever fully opened the window, as it disturbed the ward he'd placed on it. But these days Gabby often pushed it wider when entering and it was warm enough, anyway.

“I'll have to make a plan if you decide to keep growing when winter comes,” he told her. She twitched an ear at him but didn't open her eyes. “I don't fancy freezing because you keep disturbing the magic.”

He went over to the window, still opened wide, and leaned on the sill. It really was a beautiful day, the setting sun turning everything golden-hued and lovely.

His stomach gave a loud growl. He checked the clock. Still a couple of hours till dinner. He headed over to his tea: there had been biscuits on the little tray which he hadn't eaten yet. He found them, scarfing them down much too quickly and wishing for another tea to wash them down.

“Harry!”

He whirled around to Beatrice's alarmed face filling almost all of her frame, like she'd stepped too close to the camera. “Harry, quickly! ”

It must have been something in her tone, it made his heartbeat spike in anticipation. “Who?” he asked, his voice far more steady than he felt.

“Draco!’ Beatrice shrieked. “I saw it from my portrait upstairs! Look out your window.”

Harry moved so fast he might as well have apparated. The Velthuring stood at the edge of the forest, noticeably smaller than the last time, much closer to an actual hare. Its form shimmered with an eerie glow of magic, sleek fur rippling with a strange iridescence, the horns on its head curled, longer now and its large, luminous eyes were fixed on – shit.

Draco stood between the creature and some students, his wand hand shaking as he held up some kind of protection charm. With his free hand, he was desperately gesturing for the students to get back.

Harry slammed open the window so hard it cracked against the wall. He leaned out, cupping his hand around his mouth. He shouldn't have bothered, his magic amplifying his voice, “EVERYBODY, RUN. DON'T ENGAGE IT. DRACO, RUN!”

But Draco didn’t. Whether it was pride, fear, or sheer stubbornness, Harry couldn’t tell, but he knew one thing – if Draco didn’t get out of there, the creature would drain him dry.

Just like the dead man in the forest.

Something very much like blind panic shot down his spine. He couldn't lose Draco, not now. Not when he'd just realised how important he was to Harry's life. How very much he wanted Draco in it.

Harry didn’t think. He acted.

Chapter Text

Harry scrambled out of the window, vaulting over the sill and landing in the grass below. As Harry sprinted toward Draco, he reached for his wand – fuck, he was wearing his joggers and a baggy t-shirt. His wand lay on his bedside table.

Well, no time for that, he thought while his bare feet sprinted across the lawn, his mind racing for the best way to stop this.

He had seconds – maybe less.

"DRACO!" Harry bellowed again, the panic rising in his throat as he saw Draco stagger. The creature stepped closer, its body glowing brighter, the air around it humming with magic. Before his eyes, it grew, one inch, then another.

No, no, no, no, no!

He summoned his Patronus, which burst forth in a brilliant white light. The stag shot ahead in accordance to Harry's unspoken wish, galloping towards help.

But he couldn't wait, there was no time to waste. Draco was in immediate danger and Harry had never felt like this, this focused and at the same time, scared beyond belief. As he drew closer, Harry could see Draco’s knees buckle, the creature’s pull on his magic too much to withstand. His face was unnaturally white with effort as he struggled to hold on, to give the kids time to flee.

Harry spared them a glance. No one was moving, why weren't they moving? “GET INSIDE THE CASTLE,” Harry roared, his words filled with magic, more magic he'd ever had. He was channelling Hogwarts and it felt like it tore apart his insides.

Like a wave on calm waters, the ground rolled with his command, uprooting the carefully arranged flower beds near the pathway, which itself tore apart as his magic travelled by, underground but like a tidal wave.

At least with a rising, moving hill of earth barreling towards them, the students got the hint and scrambled towards the castle.

Harry whipped around, his thighs screaming from the impromptu sprint, the soles of his feet cut up from the uneven ground.

"Draco!" Harry’s voice cracked with fear as he finally reached him.

The world slowed. Harry’s chest tightened as Draco’s knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the ground, his wand slipping from his lifeless fingers. His magic was draining so fast, and Harry’s mind flashed back to the Forbidden Forest – the dead man lying still and empty, his magic sucked dry. No. Not Draco.

The creature’s energy pulsed, its form growing larger, more solid.

He had more magic. Let it feed on that, whatever it took for it to let go of Draco. Harry thrust himself in front of the fallen form, but he needn't have bothered. While he was no longer connected to Hogwarts, he still carried that extra magic. So much magic, that Draco was no longer the most appetising item on the menu.

Instead the creature focused on him, its eyes half mad as it screamed. Harry clamped his hands over his ears. He was pretty sure they were bleeding.

A quick glance behind and he knew that Draco’s certainly were. But he was out cold, unable to shield himself.

Harry’s heart pounded in his aching ears as he uncurled. He couldn’t let this happen. Not his… not Draco.

He had no idea what spell would work, or if the Velthuring would just absorb them all.

How do you magically stop something that devours magic?

Harry didn't know. Instead he pulled his magic in, so tight his head spun. In one burst of power he let it go, aiming it forward, his only thought to protect Draco's crumpled form.

The magical blast hit the creature full in the chest, throwing it back several feet.

For one long second Harry thought this was it.

But by the time the creature rolled back to its feet, it had grown to the size of a horse.

It loomed before him, glowing brightly, its form becoming less solid and more... ethereal. It wasn’t just growing; it was evolving, changing in a way that made the air around it hum with electric energy. Magic pulsed from it in waves, warping the very atmosphere. Harry could feel the pull, like gravity dragging at his own magic, pulling chunks from him by force.

Harry’s blood roared in his ears. His magic surged, and it wasn't his doing.

In that split second, Harry realised he’d never felt so helpless – his magic had always been there, eager to lend a hand. The thought that he’d once considered a Muggle life, just to simplify things, felt like utter weakness now. And yet, a real possibility if the creature wouldn't stop draining him.

And here he was, out of ideas, wondering if this was how it would end.

He glanced back at Draco.

No, not him, too. The thought of Draco without magic felt so fundamentally wrong that Harry’s mind refused to grasp it. The idea that Draco might never lean in close again, murmuring a fleeting thought he’d plucked from the crowd… Harry couldn’t bear it.

Something blurred to his side and Harry watched Gabby sprinting across the lawn, her huge paws slapping the ground in a feral rhythm.

Her large, hulking body shone in the golden sunset, sleek fur over muscles pushed to their limits. A roar ripped from her throat that sent a primal shiver down Harry's spine. Her massive form, larger than ever before, barreled toward the Velthuring with the force of a boulder, her eyes narrowed, intent on her prey.

"Gabby, no!" Harry shouted, but it was too late.

Gabby collided with the creature in a thunderous crash, her huge chest slamming into its body. They were matched in size but Gabby had momentum on her side. The creature screeched, a high-pitched, distorted sound as it was knocked off balance, stumbling backward. Gabby didn’t let up. She pinned the creature down, her claws digging into its glowing form, her fur bristling as she towered above it.

Harry scrambled towards them. He wouldn't watch his cat die, for fuck’s sake!

The air crackled with magic, and Harry felt the surge of energy ripple through the ground beneath him. Gabby’s magic was strong, wild, and untamed, and it swirled around her like a storm as she pressed down on the Velthuring, forcing it to stillness.

She growled, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the clearing. The creature thrashed beneath her, but she held it down, her paws glowing with the same eerie light as the Velthuring, her eyes locked on her struggling victim.

And Harry was close enough to feel it now – the magic, the power. Gabby was giving the creature what it wanted, pinning it down and all but vomiting magic.

"Come on, Gabby," Harry muttered, his heart pounding in his chest. He fumbled for the connection with Hogwarts, the one that had the lawn behind him looking like an unruly sea of green, frozen mid-storm, with chunks of earth and brick strewn everywhere.

He needed to help Gabby because, damnit, he wasn't losing anyone tonight.

Gabby roared. Her fur trembled as she poured yet more magic into the creature, her body shrinking as the power left her.

The Velthuring pulsed with energy, glowing like a beacon. Its head now sprouted a set of large, majestic antlers the colour of polished bone, twisting upward like the branches of a mythical tree. It whipped its head and for a moment, Harry thought it would aim for Gabby’s chest.

Only, it didn't. Instead it calmed under the magical onslaught, clearly aware this was exactly what it needed.

Gabby calmed too, purring now. And when the Velthuring bucked beneath her, she let it twist to the side. Wings unfurled from its back, translucent and glowing, casting an iridescent glow across the clearing.

And then, the torrent of magic ceased, the trees at the edge of the forest, only a few yards away, settling.

Gabby leapt back, giving the creature space to move. It did so, rolling to its long legs gracefully, shaking like a dog that just walked out of a lake.

The result of the transformation was almost too beautiful to comprehend, a creature of balance and otherworldliness brought to life by magic. Harry still couldn't believe it.

The creature lifted its head, looking at Harry for a moment that stretched, its ethereal gaze uncomfortably knowing. It looked at Draco and gave a soft, keening cry, before it slowly backed away into the Forbidden Forest, fading into the foliage while still stretching its brand new wings.

Gabby sat in the grass, back to being the size of a cat. She was panting. Never a good sign for cats, Harry knew, but if ever there was a valid reason, whatever had just happened would be it. “You're okay?”

She gave him a tired but reassuring chirp.

He nodded and slid down into the grass besides Draco, his hands shaking as he reached out to feel for a pulse. He felt one for his heart, but his magic… “Come on, come on," he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. His hand moved to hover over Draco’s chest, concentrating with every fibre of his being. He could barely feel it at all. "I’m going to get you out of here."

Draco’s eyes flickered, his breath shallow. He lifted his torso, only to slump back down, like a wave rising only to break and wash back into the sea.

His skin was talking on an unhealthy grey tinge. This didn't look good. He was slipping away with every shallow breath.

“No,” Harry muttered, shaking his head, frantic now. “No, no, no.”

He placed his hands on Draco’s chest, feeling the faint hum of life beneath. His magic stirred, rising, but he hesitated. A voice echoed in his mind – You could end up a Muggle... completely powerless.

Harry’s hands trembled. He could lose his magic forever. But Draco was slipping away. This choice wasn’t a choice at all.

“Come on,” Harry whispered, pressing harder, channeling everything he had into Draco. It wasn't a lot, not after helping Gabby and the connection to Hogwarts stubbornly refusing to reopen.

Sluggishly, magic trudged through his veins, flowing toward Draco like a river of honey; sweet but distressingly slow. He felt the pull, the syphon, and knew he was giving Draco everything he could.

Desperation clawed at him, the connection between them flaring hot and bright, oddly intimate. His power drained, his head swam, but he didn’t stop.

“You're a fucking arsehole, you know that,” Harry whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

Draco stirred, just barely. But it was a flicker of life, his hand twitching, and Harry would take that. He pressed on, his whole world narrowing to the rhythm of Draco’s shallow breaths.

Gabby watched with weary, glowing eyes, unable to help. She'd gone above and beyond, and clearly had no more magic to spare. She curled up next to Draco, as if sensing the shift in the magic between them. The world around them grew quiet. All that mattered was Draco’s slow, steady return to life.

And Harry didn’t care about the cost.

The air around them felt thick with the magical remnants, an invisible pressure weighing down the area. Harry still knelt over Draco’s limp form, his chest heaving with the effort of magic spent. He barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching until the sharp, clipped voice cut through the air like a hex.

“Potter,” Grayson’s voice was an unwelcome detail, but at least the cavalry had finally arrived. “Where's the attack?”

Harry barely gave the squad of Aurors, all looking at him expectantly, a glance. His hand rested on Draco's chest, feeling for his magic. There was a spark, but it was faint, and could well be the fact that Harry had channelled what he had into him.

“You're seeing the aftermath of it. It absorbed enough magic to evolve. I let it go.” He finally realised help was here and he glanced up sharply, scanning each face. “Where's the Mediwizard?”

“You had the creature under your control and you let it go?” An angry flush rose in Grayson's checks. “Protocols exist for a reason, Potter. We don’t just run when you whistle. This isn’t one of your personal quests.”

Harry was up and off the ground in a heartbeat. He was so close, Grayson took a surprised step back, folding his arms protectively. He had the faintest sneer on his face.

He looked too clean, too composed, as if there wasn't a man lying at their feet, dying.

“Where's the fucking Mediwizard,” Harry growled, stepping forward, his voice low and dangerous. “I'm not going to listen to you yap while someone's life is at risk. Draco could lose his magic, or his life, but you’d rather stand here and argue about rules?”

Grayson’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a cold smile. “It’s called doing things properly, Potter. Something you clearly struggle with. And he's breathing, isn't he? You might not care about regulations, but I do. You think you can just wave your wand and all rules fall away, but some of us have to live in the real world, with real consequences.”

The words hit like a slap, but Harry was past caring. His pulse pounded in his ears, and every fibre of his being screamed to get Draco out of there. He couldn’t waste time on Grayson’s petty need for control, not now.

“The real consequences are happening right now,” he bit out, his voice shaking with barely-contained rage. “Draco’s magic is practically non-existent. But sure, let’s stand here and discuss paperwork while his magic dies.”

“While his magic dies,” Grayson scoffed. “Our magic can't die.”

“Yeah? It might have been off the books, but you tell that to the people the Ministry keeps stashed away at St Mungo's. Does the name Michael Clearwater ring a bell?”

“That's highly classified information,” Grayson hissed. He stepped forward, his eyes hard. “You always think you’re above the rules, don’t you? Can’t resist playing the hero just one more time, ey?”

Harry’s patience snapped. He surged forward, shoving Grayson hard. “I’d rather be a hero than watch someone die because I’m stuck behind a metaphorical desk and have lost all understanding of what is truly right and wrong.”

Without another word, he cast Mobilicorpus, his body screaming at the expense of magic he didn't have. Draco didn't move. But like with getting the students inside, he felt something connect, felt an extra surge from Hogwarts and Draco’s unconscious body floated upward, limp but cradled by the magic. He could feel Grayson’s glare burning into his back as he turned, his heart pounding in his chest as he started dragging Draco toward the castle.

“Move,” Harry snapped at the Aurors. “Get out of the way, or so help me –”

He didn’t wait to see what they decided on doing. There was no time, no more space for arguments or red tape.

###

The strain of magic tugged at Harry's very core. Draco floated beside him, pale and unmoving, only the faintest flicker of life detectable. Harry’s legs felt like lead as he stumbled toward the edge of the castle walls, his heart racing, the urgency eating at him like fire.

Blast the bloody wards to hell and back. What good was it if you couldn't Apparate in an emergency?

Harry nearly tripped, when the thought hit him. Of course!

“Pippet!” Harry called, his voice hoarse, each breath burning his throat. He called again, louder this time, desperation threading his tone. “Pippet! Please, it's urgent!”

Draco’s body bobbed lightly beside him, the magic barely holding, Harry’s strength waning by the second. His mind raced, eyes scanning the area for any sign of help. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could sustain the spell, but there was no way he was letting Draco fall.

A soft pop echoed through the thick air, and the tiny house-elf appeared in front of him. Pippet blinked up at him with wide, worried eyes.

“Harry Potter, sir! What has happened to Master Malfoy?” Her voice was high-pitched with alarm, but Harry couldn’t spare the time to answer fully.

“I need you to take Draco to Malfoy Manor. Now. He’s –” Harry faltered for a moment, the words sticking in his throat. He couldn’t admit how close it had been, how close Draco had come to – “Just get him there. Tell Narcissa he needs to stay home until his magic is stable.”

Pippet’s large eyes grew even wider, nodding frantically. “Yes, yes, Pippet will take him!” She reached out, and with a snap of her small fingers, Draco’s floating body was gently lowered into her arms. Despite her size, she cradled him with surprising ease.

Harry’s magic released with a sudden rush, the strain lifting, but leaving him hollow. He staggered, swaying where he stood, his vision darkening at an alarming rate. “Be quick,” he rasped.

Pippet nodded once more, and with another pop, they both vanished.

For a second, Harry just stood there, breath ragged, staring at the empty space where they had been. The overwhelming relief hit him like a tidal wave, but with it came exhaustion so deep it threatened to pull him under.

He hadn't realised it in his frantic trek up to the castle, but Gabby, ever faithful, courageous Gabby, had followed him. She nudged her head against his leg. She, too, had given everything. At least she'd stopped panting, but her eyes were heavy with fatigue. She wobbled as she pressed against him, just as exhausted as him.

“Good girl,” Harry murmured, reaching down to stroke her gently. His hand trembled as it rested on her head, both of them on the brink of collapse. He sank to his knees beside her, resting his forehead against her now much smaller body, his breaths coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Gabby let out a soft purr, the sound more soothing than he could have imagined.

“Rest,” he whispered, though the words were as much for himself as for Gabby. “We need to rest. Then it'll all be better.”

He hoped his words wouldn't mark him a liar.

Harry's body felt like it had been wrung dry, every ounce of magic drained. He couldn’t even think about leaving Hogwarts now. He couldn’t follow Draco, couldn’t check on him, couldn’t be sure if he’d be okay. It gnawed at him, the helplessness settling into his bones.

But he had nothing left to give.

Chapter Text

In the days following the attack, Harry wasn't sure if his magic would ever return. The emptiness he felt was unsettling, a hollow where his power should have been.

Each time he tried a simple spell – a Lumos to light a lamp – nothing happened at all.

By the third day he lay awake at night, flicking his fingers toward the lamp on his bedside table, only to watch it sputter and fade. It was something, just enough to give him a fragile hope.

Then, one morning, as he absentmindedly reached for his mug, it slid a few inches toward him. He froze, feeling the faint warmth of magic at his core.

Following that, he attempted small charms with growing consistency, though even the most basic spells left him winded. His magic felt like a muscle he’d forgotten how to use, aching with each stretch.

Some days, he’d feel a familiar pulse, a quiet promise of what once was, though it was clear he had a long road ahead. But with each spark, his confidence grew, and while he was nowhere near his old strength, Harry found himself finally daring to believe his magic was still his own.

One morning, with only five teachers in the Great Hall as all students had returned home, Harry received an elegant letter sealed in emerald wax. Recognising Narcissa Malfoy’s wax seal, he carefully opened it, reading her message.

Draco would be fine.

Something eased in Harry's chest, something he hadn't known had been choking him for days.

Apparently, Draco was also ready to receive visitors, and Harry was welcome anytime. Considering she knew they weren't really together, that invitation bordered on meddling.

And anyway, wasn't it Draco's move? If he felt better, he could write.

Harry left the letter on his desk, heading outside to the Quidditch pitch for a friendly game with the remaining teachers. The sun was out, a mild breeze making it the perfect conditions. And he needed to blow off steam, needed to exert his body to keep the thoughts at bay.

Three hours later, after an exhausting bout and a refreshing shower, Harry rifled through his dresser for a fresh shirt, when something soft brushed his hand. He pulled back a bit and saw it – the scarf Draco had once transfigured into a dark green, tucked away at the back.

Picking it up, he ran his fingers over the fabric, feeling the gentle pulse of Draco’s magic still lingering.

Harry stared at it for a long moment, his hair dripping water into the drawer. He gathered a tiny bit of his magic, breaking the transfiguration with barely a thought. The scarf slowly bled back into its original red and gold Gryffindor colours.

He thumbed over the soft wool, eyes lingering on the familiar, vibrant hues, contemplating all they stood for.

What felt like minutes later, he bunched the hand still holding the scarf into a fist.

Decision made, Harry got dressed.

###

That afternoon, Harry arrived at Malfoy Manor, Gabby bounding up the driveway in excitement like a dog at the park. He couldn’t deny the small buzz of anticipation thrumming under his skin. He didn't want to, either.

A house-elf greeted him as though he'd been expected. Up the impressive yet understated staircase they went, then down a long, plush hallway lined with generations of Malfoys, all looking down their noses at him. Until, at the end of it, he stood before a double set of doors.

He knocked.

“Yes?” came a muffled voice.

Harry stepped inside to find Draco still in bed, looking paler than usual, but alert. Draco arched an eyebrow as he took in Harry stepping into his rooms, setting down the book he'd been reading and placing his glasses on top.

Instead of a greeting, Harry got a slightly annoyed, “That scarf looks ghastly.” Draco's eyes stayed on him. “And it’s warm out, Potter. Hardly the season for sporting House colours on winter garb.”

Harry shrugged, unable to hide the faint smirk. “I was feeling Gryffindorish,” he replied.

Draco’s lips twitched, though he made a show of wincing. “And mauling language, I see. Truly, there’s no end to your talents.”

Harry ignored the jab, though he couldn’t help but feel a swell of – something at Draco’s reaction. He moved closer to the bed, reaching out instinctively until he could feel the subtle pulse of Draco’s magic, warm and steady. The familiarity of it brought a quiet relief, and he smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay.”

Draco let out a dramatic sigh, his hand flopping onto the bed as if lifting it were an unbearable task. “If by ‘okay’ you mean utterly drained of vitality and on the verge of collapse, then yes, I suppose I’m fine.” He gave a weak, exaggerated cough, glancing pitifully at Harry. “The Mediwizards say I’ll make a full recovery,” he added, though he made it sound like a tragic fate.

Harry raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. "So, it's safe to say you’ll live?"

“Only barely,” Draco murmured, looking away as if Harry’s proximity were almost too much to bear in his fragile state, but Harry noticed the faintest flicker of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Though it is a bit odd to have you here, I must admit.”

“I came to ask you something.”

Draco's face betrayed nothing. “Oh?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Draco’s expression shifted, a guarded look descending over his features. “Ava is out of school,” he said slowly, “so there’s no reason for our ruse anymore.”

Harry held his gaze, undeterred. “I want a real date.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Harry thought of the countless times he’d caught himself thinking about Draco, about how, when Draco was around, that restless itch under his skin seemed to disappear. He thought of the rare, genuine smile Draco gave on the few occasions when he let his guard down, a smile Harry found himself waiting for more than he’d care to admit. And, of course, the way his magic sang when they kissed, alive and brimming with possibility.

All he said though, was, “Why not?”

Draco’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “No.”

Harry sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Come on, Draco. Don’t you want to at least try?”

Draco looked away, folding his arms tightly. “Try what, exactly? More dinners at fancy establishments? Maybe some time with your insufferable friends analysing my every move? Or would you like me at the Burrow, at the mercy of all those Weasleys?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You enjoy dinners at fancy establishments, and you know it.”

Draco huffed, refusing to meet his gaze. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Harry pressed, his tone gentle but persistent.

“Because,” Draco said, his voice wavering slightly, “when things inevitably fall apart, I –” He paused, struggling with his words. “It doesn't matter.”

“Draco,” Harry chided. “If there is one person in this world we can be honest with, because they have quite literally seen us at our worst, it's each other, isn't it? It's been like that since bloody school! Just tell me.”

Draco didn't look at him, pressing his lips in a thin line. Harry reached out, squeezing his hand. It was enough, the dam broke and Draco, glaring at him, blurted out, “I don’t want to lose you as a friend!”

Draco’s gaze showcased defiance in every line, his hands twisting away and gripping the bedspread. “I don’t have many of those.”

Seeing the seriousness in Draco’s eyes, Harry refrained from taking the mickey, understanding that this was clearly difficult for him. “Well, if it helps, I’m friends with all my exes.” He paused, pulling a face. “Except Evan.”

Draco’s expression softened a fraction, but he still replied with a firm, “No.”

Harry saw a hint of doubt there.

“Your mum talked to me,” Harry said, keeping his tone casual.

“Oh?” Draco’s attempt at indifference was undercut by the worry that flickered in his gaze. “What about?”

Harry’s smile softened. “I’m not entirely sure, but if I understood her correctly, it’s because you might have feelings for me.”

Draco’s face shifted, a stubborn resolve settling over it. “My mother has no idea what she’s talking about.”

Harry merely smiled, rose and placed one knee on the edge of the bed, leaning closer. “I think she does.”

“Harry…” Draco’s tone was a warning, but Harry edged forward, crawling onto the huge bed until he was leaning over him.

“Yes?” Harry replied, his voice low.

Draco’s hand reached up to clutch the fabric of Harry’s shirt, his grip hesitant, his fingers trembling. Then they found some resolve and untangled the scarf from Harry's neck, throwing it to the ground like it personally offended him. “It's a bad idea.”

Harry leaned in, brushing his lips to Draco’s cheek. “Everyone else will say that. Everyone else has been saying that.” He pressed a soft kiss to Draco’s other cheek, his breath warm as it bounced from Draco’s skin. “But we both know just how wrong they are.”

Draco let out a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you mean?”

Harry drew back slightly, meeting Draco’s eyes. “Back at the bed and breakfast, I’d have been fine with one night.” He paused, watching Draco’s face carefully. “But you seemed hesitant, so I let it go.” He allowed a faint smile to curve his lips. “Now I want more than one night.”

Draco’s eyes fluttered closed, and he swallowed hard, as if wrestling with something inside. “What exactly is that?”

“Dates. Public, if you want, but I’d like a few private ones, too,” Harry murmured, feeling his pulse quicken as Draco arched slightly at his words, brushing his mouth across the pulse point on Harry’s neck.

“And?” Draco’s voice was a hushed murmur, his lips grazing Harry’s skin, sending a thrill racing down his spine.

Harry’s voice faltered for a moment as he fought to focus. “Merlin… more of this would be nice.”

Draco’s mouth curled into a mischievous smile against his neck. “Definitely more of this.” He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting Harry’s, bright with that rare, genuine warmth Harry adored. “What else?”

Harry’s gaze softened. “I want to watch you throw parties and be the perfect host. I want to pick you up from work. I want you to stay over in my quarters.”

Draco smirked. “Your sofa is horribly uncomfortable. I thought we’d established that.”

“Not for what I had in mind.” Harry felt a surge of satisfaction at the faint blush colouring Draco’s cheeks. “And, preferably, I’d like you in my bed afterwards.”

The blush deepened, horribly visible on his pale countenance, but a slight, endearing smile softened his features. “Okay.” He shifted, and with far more strength than Harry thought possible, flipped their positions. He was looking down at Harry, his expression full of something vulnerable and unguarded. “Okay,” he repeated. “But if you complain that I'm overtly meticulous, secretive or make use of deflective banter, I'll remind you of today. Mentioning those won't win you any arguments.”

Harry laughed, smiling up at him. “I can work with that.”

Draco scrutinised his face. “And you'll be my friend even if we fight?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Draco said, his eyes darkening. “I hate your shirt, it's hideous. Take it off.”

Instead of giving Harry a chance to comply, Draco leaned down, their lips meeting in a lingering, magic-spiking kiss. Just as Harry’s mind drifted into the warmth of the moment, his hand already worming its way into Draco pyjama bottoms – a commotion sounded outside.

It was Gabby’s paws scratching insistently at the door.

Harry barely registered the noise, his attention taken up by Draco's presence. He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “Kissing you feels like magic.” Draco gave him a confused look, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret Harry’s words.

Moments later, Narcissa’s voice floated in from the hallway. “Tea is ready. Draco, are you up for it, or shall I have it brought to you?”

Draco’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of panic crossing his face as if they’d been caught in some illicit act. Well, okay.

Harry tried to pull him back down.

Draco sat up and shot him a glare, though his cheeks were still tinged pink, giving him a well-kissed glow. “The drawing room will be fine,” he called out, regaining some of his composure.

He looked down at Harry, settling his weight on Harry's thighs where he straddled them. Harry pawed at the front of Draco's trousers. Draco smacked his fingers away. “Stop that,” he hissed.

“You could have just told me you liked me,” Harry said. He didn't stop.

“Oh, shut up, you –” Draco grabbed his hands, pressing them down either side of Harry's head. “You're a menace.”

Harry grinned at him. “You've caught me.”

Draco's eyes went dark in an instant. He squeezed his fingers around Harry's wrists. “Shut up, Harry.”

Harry shrugged, which didn't quite work laying flat on his back. “I just know what I want. And unlike some…”

Draco growled and swung his leg over Harry, standing next to the bed. He didn't look at him. “We need to go to tea.” Harry opened his mouth but Draco must have sensed it. He whirled around, pointing a finger at him. “Hush! My mother is waiting three doors down.”

Harry stood, shrugged and gave Draco a teasing smile. “Need me to carry you?”

Draco shot him a withering look. “Get out and follow my mother. I’ll be down shortly.”

With a cheeky wave, Harry left the room, Gabby happily padding beside him.

###

They settled into the drawing room, the scent of freshly brewed tea mingling with the rich aroma of still-warm biscuits. Narcissa, ever the perfect hostess, poured Harry a cup, her expression warm as she offered him the plate.

“Thank you,” Harry said, taking one. “It’s good to see both of you doing well.”

Narcissa’s smile softened as she glanced at her son. “I owe you a great deal for that, Harry. You’ll always have our gratitude. If there's anything you ever need, anything –”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Mother, leave him out of your machinations. You’ll ruin his reputation. I've worked hard on that.”

Harry smirked. “I’ll manage.”

Narcissa poured the tea, her movements graceful and precise, as Draco leaned back in his chair, observing Harry with a curious look. Harry, after taking a sip, cleared his throat and started the conversation.

“So,” he began, “the Aurors are finally satisfied. No sightings, no signs – not even a hint – of that creature since it evolved.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “It’s gone? Just like that?”

Harry nodded. “Thanks to the tip I got from Beatrice – she helped us and the Aurors identify the creature. Now that it’s in its evolved state, it no longer feeds on ambient magic. So, no more blackouts.”

Narcissa’s face softened with relief. “That’s good to hear.”

Harry set down his cup, leaning forward slightly as he gathered his thoughts. “It turns out the reason the creature couldn't evolve naturally was because… well, those four people we saw in the woods – they’d been casting some kind of modified syphoning spell on it.” He paused, glancing between Narcissa and Draco. “Basically, they were draining magic directly from the animal, stopping it from reaching its mature form.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Syphoning its magic? How?”

“Apparently you can't just run around and do that to anyone or anything. That's why they got it to hatch early. Only during that particular stage would the animal not have natural defences.” He looked at them both. “This has all been classified.”

“We know how to keep a secret,” Narcissa assured him.

Draco agreed but wanted to know, “What was their goal?”

Harry sighed. “The Aurors found out that they were stockpiling the creature’s magic in anything and everything – amulets, modified pensieves, that sort of thing – to pull off a massive attack on Gringotts.”

“This was all about money?” Draco asked

Narcissa sighed delicately. “It usually is, darling.”

Harry nodded. “Apparently, they raided the blond guy’s home after he died in the forest, and he hadn’t had the chance to destroy his plans. There were notes everywhere.”

Draco’s expression turned serious. “And that’s why the magic in the forest in Ireland hit you so strongly?” with a pointed look he reminded Harry, “when you bloody well didn't duck.”

Harry shrugged, slightly self-conscious. “I’ve grown accustomed to being able to rely on the strength of my magic. I’ll have to work on that. Though to be fair, there was no way of knowing it wasn’t just one person’s magic. I don’t know how much they’d taken from the creature, but it was powerful. No one knows exactly how long they’d been draining it, but judging by the amount of magic, it had to be quite substantial. It was intense.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, muttering, “And could have been avoided by ducking.”

“Right,” Harry agreed, unable to squash his grin. “Beatrice made sure the Aurors understood this is a peaceful and very rare creature. Only the people are to blame for the blackouts.” He let out a breath, relieved to finally put it into words. “The Aurors are keeping watch, of course, but it seems like the worst is over.”

Narcissa daintily placed her cup on the saucer. “And Beatrice helped you in identifying it?”

“Yes,” Harry said, smiling. “Apparently, it’s a rare magical creature, a magivore. More specifically a Velthuring. From her research, the Muggles call it a Wolpertinger, a hare-like creature that lives in the Alps. They are believed to be a taxidermy hoax, but we know better, of course. It dates back to the 18th, maybe 17th century. They feed mostly on ambient magic. An important part in our magical ecosystem, as I've learned.”

“Interesting,” Draco mused, glancing at Gabby, who was lounging at Harry’s feet.

“That’s not all, though,” Harry continued, following Draco’s gaze. “I spoke with Beatrice again after that, and she had a lot to say about Gabby.”

“Oh?” Narcissa asked, her curiosity piqued. She glanced at Gabby, giving her a soft smile.

“She’s also a magivore,” Harry explained. “I assume it was the eggshell that made her grow, made her take on magic; she always knew how to help the Velthuring,” he reached down to scratch her head. “Didn't you?”

“And since when do you allow her to leave the grounds?” Draco asked. “Is it a treat for a job well done?”

Harry grimaced. “That's the other thing she can do, being a magivore. She’s apparently always kept my magic in check, but of course at Hogwarts, there isn't much for her to do.”

“And you never let her leave the grounds to come with you,” Draco said, realisation dawning.

Harry nodded solemnly. “I foolishly never let her leave the grounds, thinking she’d be safer there, but Beatrice says that’s ridiculous. As my familiar, Gabby’s job is to be with me, especially when I’m away from Hogwarts, to help me level my magic.”

Draco’s lips quirked in amusement. “So, you’ll have her trotting along like a little shadow wherever you go?”

“Apparently,” Harry said. “Especially if I’m away for longer stretches. I haven’t exactly tested how long it’ll work, but…” He gave Gabby a fond look, and she gave him one slow blink in lazy acknowledgment.

Narcissa’s eyes sparkled as she watched them. “It seems things are falling into place for you, Harry.”

“Yes, I think so,” he said, his eyes carefully avoiding Draco’s.

“And speaking of things falling into place,” Narcissa continued, “when will you be taking up the Head of House position? Haven’t they asked you about it by now?”

Harry blinked, lowering his cup in surprise. “Oh, well – I mean, I’ve been asked. A few times, actually.”

Draco cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Mother….”

Narcissa’s expression remained serene as she looked back at Harry. “Well, then,” she said, as if that settled the matter.

Harry frowned, confused. “What?”

She folded her hands in her lap elegantly. “I'll have to get used to this… frankness, won't I?” Despite her words, she smiled warmly at him. “It’s only natural to accept the role of Head of House on the way to becoming Headmaster, Harry.”

Harry choked on his biscuit, coughing as he tried to recover, while Draco shot his mother a dark look. “Headmaster? I – I think that’s a bit far off.”

“She’s only planting ideas, Harry. Don’t let her pressure you.”

Narcissa smiled guilelessly, but there was a glint in her eye. “Pressure? Never, darling. Just encouragement.” She waved her hand, announcing that subject matter as passé. “So tell me,” she continued, scrutinising the two of them. “When did you two make up?”

Draco groaned and Harry couldn't help but laugh.

###

That afternoon, once Harry was back at Hogwarts, he made his way to the Headmistress’ office. He knocked lightly, and after a moment, McGonagall’s voice called out, “Come in.”

He stepped inside, and McGonagall looked up from her desk, her eyes softening with a hint of surprise.

“I’ll take the Head of House position.”

A look of, if Harry had to put a word to it, triumph, flitted across her face. “Good,” she said, her tone brisk but undeniably pleased. “I had a speech prepared for several years now – something about how a Head of House must focus on responsibilities and thus, can’t keep improvising new classes. But, seeing as your ‘creative forays’ into the syllabus have thankfully decreased recently, I don’t think I’ll have to give it.”

“Glad I could save you the trouble, Headmistress.”

She nodded approvingly. “Welcome to the role, Harry. It’s where you belong.”

With that, Harry left her office, feeling the familiar comfort of the castle’s ancient stone walls surrounding him. The halls were quiet, empty now that the students had left for summer, and he let himself enjoy the silence. If he listened closely, it felt as though the castle was humming softly, as if Hogwarts itself was singing a warm welcome.

Peeves darted down the corridor with an armful of chalk, cackling madly, leaving a trail of white dust that formed chaotic loops in his wake.

Silence settled.

Harry glanced down at Gabby, who trotted alongside him, ever his loyal companion. “Draco agreed to visit tomorrow,” he mentioned casually, as they continued down the corridor. “You were busy chasing butterflies, so you might have missed it.”

Gabby let out a low, slightly annoyed huff. Harry chuckled, leaning down to give her an affectionate pat on the head. “You’ll have to get used to it. And don’t tell him,” he whispered, “but you’ll always be my favourite.”

Gabby flicked her tail, clearly unimpressed but, as always, accepting of his attention. Harry smiled, feeling a quiet contentment settle over him as he walked the familiar halls, for once entirely sure where his next excitement would come from.