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Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy woke from the warm embrace of his blankets with an unusual start. You see, if you had told him last night that the morning of July 31st, 1991, would be spent being dragged out of bed by what sounded like an excited Pansy Parkinson who was actively yelling into his ear, he would've never believed you—not for a second. Because Pansy didn't get excited, and she certainly didn't yell; the girl was only ever capable of making backhanded insults and rolling her eyes, but lo and behold, here she was, tugging on Draco's arm so hard that it might be pulled out of its socket any minute now. 

In fear for his beautiful arm, Draco responded to her squeals with a low murmur and raised his head. It took him a few seconds to regain his bearings, the usual “where am I”s and “do I exist”s circling his mind. Only to be met with more contradictions to his supposedly normal life (if you could count being heir to one of the richest families in wizarding society as “normal”). 

In his bedroom were four other people—which were four people too many to be inside his room all at once—especially when Draco looked outside his window just past Blaise Zabini (which was an unusual guest in itself, even outside his room), and realized there was barely enough light outside, the gardens of Malfoy Manor cast in a dark shade of blue. 

“Is there a party going on that I wasn't aware of?” Draco croaked, blinking up at Pansy, who he would now blame for ruining his Wednesday. “No silly, it's today!” Pansy scoffed, freeing Draco's arm and putting her hands on her hips. Draco could hear a faint chuckle that was poorly disguised as a cough somewhere in the room (probably Theodore Nott, another uninvited guest). 

Draco sat up from his bed, meeting the eyes of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle who were shamelessly munching on the chocolates from his bedside table, “and what is today, exactly?” he asked, and Theo jumped at the opportunity to answer, “Well, it's your boyfriend's birthday,” which earned him an elbow to the ribs by Pansy. "What he means is,” Pansy paused, for the suspense Draco guessed. “rumour has it that today is Harry Potter’s birthday, and if you read the letters I sent you then you would've known that, which means you obviously didn't.” 

His cheeks bloomed a light pink, turning his head away to look at his suddenly very interesting blanket—a golden snitch patterned thing that his mother bought him for Christmas last year—“You send about three parchments full of mundane things in each letter, don't blame me,” he muttered. 

It was true, Draco had learned to stop reading Pansy’s letters after the fourth batch was only filled with what transpired at a tea party that Draco had attended with her. 

Pansy scoffed and took a step back, which was apparently the cue for Blaise to start talking, “as right as you are, don't act like Pansy's the only one you've been ignoring lately, all five of us has been owling you non-stop and frankly, I'm personally insulted. I send you the most important gossip in wizarding Britain only to be met with an empty-handed owl every time, so the purpose of this surprise visit is—what I like to call—staging an intervention,” Blaise said with his arms crossed in small, but smug triumph. 

Draco looked between his five friends, and for a second he almost felt touched by the effort they made just to continue talking to him, but what Pansy had said earlier was bothering him, “okay, but why on Harry Potter's birthday?” He asked, starting to realise there might be a catch to this sudden sweetness.

“Because,” Pansy drawled, dragging out the word “it isn't a secret how utterly taken you are by The Boy Who Lived,” she said matter-of-factly. “So what better way to get your attention than to celebrate his birthday?” Theo chimed in, taking out a piece of parchment from Greg's chest pocket, “we have the whole day planned out for you.”

“Don't worry, we already have your mum's blessing,” Vince said around a mouthful of chocolates, patting Draco's shoulder with sticky, chocolate covered fingers that Draco fought hard not to grimace at. 

“And whatever your mother agrees on, Lucius Malfoy doesn't have a chance to fight it, so get dressed. We'll meet you downstairs,” Blaise said with an air of finality, and the group sifted out of the room. Greg was the last to leave, giving Draco an apologetic look and Draco wasn't sure if it was for eating his chocolates or something else. 

Draco knew this was going to be a long, long day. 

 The first thing on Theo's list of activities to do was to shop at Diagon Alley, so to Diagon Alley they went. Narcissa Malfoy went with them as a chaperone as her condition, because five pure-blooded children from notable—and very rich—families running around the most famous shopping center in wizarding Britain was a sure disaster waiting to happen. Lucius Malfoy had chosen to go with the group as well, muttering something about having business at Flourish and Blotts, and separating from the group as soon as they got to their destination. 

Before starting the fun, his mother had suggested that Draco should fit his Hogwarts robes early, so they all dropped him off in front of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions with the promise of picking him up in half an hour. Draco went inside reluctantly, he had gotten his Hogwarts letter a few days ago, and was to attend the school on the 1st of September, he had no idea why he should fit his Hogwarts robes so early, but he would rather be kissed by a dementor than refuse Narcissa Malfoy. 

A squat, kind looking witch dressed in mauve—Madam Malkin, Draco suspected—greeted him upon entering and ushered him to the back of the shop. he stood on the footstool provided right as a second witch—a seamstress—started pinning the black robes onto his body without saying a word.

A few minutes in uncomfortable silence passed, and Draco could hear Madam Malkin fussing over another person, and Draco—itching to talk to someone—turned to see a small boy with unruly black hair stepping on the footstool next to him. When he met the grubby boy's eyes, he let out a barely audible gasp at how green they were, Draco had never seen such enchanting eyes before. 

“Hello,” Draco said, “Hogwarts, too?”

"Yes,” replied the boy with pretty eyes. 

“My friends left me here while they're having fun buying whatever they want and I think my mother's up the street looking at wands,” Draco said, the mention of his friends made him remember how boring this place was. 

“I'm probably going to drag them off to look at racing brooms as revenge. They're not as interested in Quidditch as I am. I don't see why first years can't have their own brooms, I'm going to bully Theodore into getting me one and we'll smuggle it in somehow,” Draco realised halfway that he was probably talking the poor boy's ear off, and felt bad. 

“Have you got your own broom?” He asked, hoping to keep the conversation equal. “No,” the boy replied, and when Draco asked if he'd played Quidditch the boy also said no, which caused Draco to try and look at the boy more closely, gazing hard to try to see behind the black robes being pinned on him, Draco could see muggle clothes and he cursed at himself for being so close-minded. The boy with pretty eyes was a muggleborn. 

He had no prejudice against muggleborns, well he used to but that was shot down by a faithful conversation he had with Blaise at breakfast today, and quite thoroughly embarrassed him, so Draco took this as a challenge. 

He will wrangle and befriend this muggleborn boy and gloat about it to Blaise and prove he isn't prejudiced. Only… Draco had a small gut feeling that the boy in front of him didn't like him very much. 

“Do you know what House you'll be in yet?” He asked, he mentally pat himself on the back for that one. An easy conversation starter, surely anyone with a brain must've contemplated their Hogwarts House already. 

“No,” the boy replied. Oh. Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? That's exactly what Draco replied, and added a supporting comment about Slytherin which earned him a “Mmm,” from the other boy. This wasn't going well. 

The rest of the conversation didn't go any better; Draco saw a large, scary looking man outside the shop, and the boy said he was the Hogwarts gamekeeper and thought he was brilliant, Draco might've wanted to befriend this boy but that didn't stop him from thinking—well, judging—what an awful judge of character the boy was. When he mentioned the other boy's parents in hopes of changing the subject, he found out they were dead. Great. When he apologized, the boy just looked at him like he didn't believe him, which Draco found insulting and decided to just stay quiet the rest of the fitting. 

When Madam Malkin told the boy with pretty eyes that he was done fitting, he seemed eager to leave, which hurt Draco's pride, so—as a final attempt—he called out to him. 

When the boy turned, Draco stepped off the footstool to stand in front of him, which earned him a yelp from the seamstress “I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy,” he held out his hand, meeting those pretty green eyes again. “sorry if I sounded a bit rude earlier, I'm not good with new people,” he put on a pleading look, hoping the lie was believable enough, because Draco Malfoy was always good with new people (but the new people he'd meet were never muggleborn, so it probably wasn't the biggest lie ever). 

The boy didn't take his hand, so Draco just pat his shoulder instead “I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” he said awkwardly, flashing a small smile. He turned to walk back to the annoyed seamstress before he could hear the boy's reply, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. 

When Draco's friends (with the absence of Vince and Greg, who went with his mother to Ollivander’s) came to pick him up from Madam Malkin's, they found him practically pink and melting. 

Pansy immediately panicked, asking what on earth caused such a reaction out of him while Blaise and Theo were toppling over their own giggles. Draco rolled his eyes at them and explained his horrible social interaction with the muggleborn boy he met, which caused Blaise and Theo to laugh at him even more. 

“If I were that muggleborn, I would've reacted that way too,” Theo exclaimed when they left the shop, laughing and throwing his arm over Draco's shoulders which caused him to tense up. “Shut up, Nott,” Draco muttered as Pansy dragged them to Merlin knows where. 

“Relax, Dray. You did your best,” Blaise said next to him, putting his hands in his pockets and looking fondly at Pansy ahead of them. 

Draco frowned at him, but didn't comment. Instead, he replied “really?” with a hopeful tone. “No,” Blaise said, with a wide, foxy grin forming on his face which caused Theo to hit him on the head “Don't listen to him, Dray. He's being ridiculous,” Theo laughed, dragging Draco away from Blaise to catch up with Pansy. For once, Draco was glad he came here with his friends. 

The next month or so after their day of fun was spent being cooped up at Malfoy Manor, or at least that was how Draco spent his August. He started to make it a habit of reading his friends’ letters, though he still forgot to sometimes and has to be reminded by the elves. Pansy was spending the rest of her summer in France along with Theo, much to the dislike of Blaise, or that was what his letters said. 

Blaise was stuck in London with his mother, going to social event after social event because his mother's new husband—probably the fourth one by now—was some famous bloke. 

Draco didn't know where Vince and Greg were, they never really shared about their personal lives in letters, but he did know that Greg was getting into a new novel and Vince was spending his days in the kitchen baking, much to the horror of his elves. Draco laughs the most when he reads Theo's letters though, something about Theo's personality tickled him so much. Not to mention his owl was by far the friendliest, always nuzzling up to Draco as he read the contents of Theo's letters. 

August made him remember how much he hated letters. He didn't know when the hatred began, but every time he read one he would miss his friends dearly. He hated that their likeness was trapped in parchment. He couldn't see them, nor could he touch them (it's not like he frequently touches his friends in person either, but the thought that he could always do so was comforting.) 

So when September rolled around and he got onto platform 9 3⁄4, he ran to hug Pansy and shook Blaise, Vince, Greg and Theo's hands. He didn't tell anyone he almost hugged Theo too, but the look in Greg's eye was knowing. 

When they searched the train for an empty compartment, Draco spotted unruly black hair in his periphery, he slid the compartment door open and he met the same pretty eyes he saw at Madam Malkin's “Hey,” Draco's face broke out into a wild grin as the boy's eyes flashed in recognition. “Can my friends and I sit here? Everywhere else is full,” He lied. They hadn't even searched the train properly, and there were still plenty of kids down at the platform, but he feared the boy would refuse if he didn't lie. 

When the boy nodded, Draco pulled the nearest person in—Theo, he realized—and sat in front of him with Theo at his side, the others slowly following. Pansy sat next to Blaise, who was sitting next to the boy, Vince took the seat next to Theo, which meant Greg had to take the floor, much to the amusement of Blaise. 

“So you're the guy Draco keeps talking about,” Theo said, breaking the silence. The rest seemed to snap back to reality after gawking at the boy, and Draco swore there was some legilimency taking place because then everyone decided it was ‘embarrass Draco Malfoy’ day. 

“Right!” Pansy exclaimed, “He would not shut up about you, it was adorable,” she winked at the boy, causing him to go a bit red. The rest of the compartment nodded and muttered agreements in unison, much to Draco's horror. 

“What? No, don't listen to them, they're lying fools,” He said, though it was too late, because now the boy was looking at him weirdly. The compartment was silent for a while, until it was Greg who broke it from the comfort of the floor. “What's your name?” he asked, looking up at the boy. 

“Harry,” the boy—Harry—replied. There was a chorus of “nice to meet you”s and it went back to a pleasant environment of introductions until Blaise spoke up “You said your name's Harry, right?” He asked, and when Harry nodded his eyes went slightly wider “You wouldn't happen to be, uh, Harry Potter?” 

Draco went impossibly pale and looked toward Harry, he hesitantly nodded and the compartment was suddenly deathly quiet. Theo mumbled something about Salazar and the others snapped, trying—and failing—to pretend they were fine and hide their shock. They were sharing a compartment with the Harry Potter. 

Draco felt like an idiot, the boy he talked to wasn't a muggleborn at all, and was actually Harry bloody Potter, and Draco had made a fool of himself at Madam Malkin's! On his birthday, no less! Theo must've sensed his panic, and there was now a comforting hand to his knee. Draco had never been so thankful. 

“So Harry, uhm, what house do you think you'll be in?” Pansy—bless her heart—tried to make conversation, but Draco already knew how that would go. “I don't know,” Harry said, his mouth a thin line. “Could it be that you don't know about the houses?” Blaise chimed in, and Draco could kiss him. Harry nodded and Blaise and Pansy went on a long rant about the houses; Gryffindor being bravery, Slytherin as ambition, Hufflepuff as loyalty, and Ravenclaw as wisdom. 

When Pansy made a passing comment that they'll all be in Slytherin, Harry asked her why she thinks so. “Well, because all our families were Slytherins,” she replied, almost defensively and Draco winced at how poorly Harry's question was answered. 

“It's what we're expected to be,” Draco said quickly, he didn't want Harry to think negatively of him and his friends. “If we're sorted into anything else, we'd get in loads of trouble. Families like ours aren't open-minded, and they don't see the other houses as good. If I were sorted into, uh, Gryffindor then my father would have my neck.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, and for the first time in a while, he looked into Draco's eyes, and Draco found himself holding his breath. 

Someone in the compartment coughed, Draco didn't know who, which caused Harry to look away, and Draco was left blinking violently. “Uhm, Slytherin isn't that bad though, I'm looking forward to being sorted there,” he mumbled, and Vince asked how everyone thinks they'll be sorted, which caused easy discussion to fall on everyone for the rest of the train ride. 

Draco woke from his nap with an incredibly painful crick in his neck, it was as if a particularly vengeful ghost twisted it and left him to die. He looked around the compartment, rubbing soothing circles into his neck. 

Everyone else was off to dreamland, Greg was snoring on the floor and Draco watched in amusement as Pansy's head was resting on Blaise's shoulder. He looked out the window to see the navy colored surroundings zip by, his eyes landing on Harry in the process. 

A small gasp escaped him when he saw Harry staring straight at him, those piercing green eyes boring into him, and Draco pondered if Harry was a legilimens. They both looked at each other, not saying a word. Harry's eyes were travelling all over Draco's figure, but Draco was trained on his eyes. 

“Slytherin,” Harry said suddenly, his eyes going back to meet Draco's and Draco frowned. “What?” he asked, their voices were loud against the quiet hum of the train. “I'm going to be in Slytherin,” Harry—much to Draco's shock—gave him a small smile, and Draco couldn't help but smile back, suddenly wishing he didn't choose the seat opposite to Harry, and instead chose to sit next to him. 

Draco suddenly had a thought, moving his knees up to his chin—mimicking Harry's position—and hugged them “Harry,” he whispered, so quietly he wondered if Harry even heard it. “Yeah?” Harry whispered back, and Draco fought hard not to smile. 

“Harry,” he whispered again. 

“Draco,” Harry said along with a quiet laugh. 

Draco's stomach did something funny as happiness washed over him. Harry Potter was here talking to him, and he let Draco call him by his first name like they knew each other, like they were friends. 

No, they were friends, Draco decided—right now on the train to Hogwarts—that he wouldn't be letting Harry go, not on his watch. Because when they were together they weren't Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, they were just two boys, two boys that met in a robe shop and slightly disliked each other, they were just Harry and Draco, and Draco will fight for it to stay that way. 

Chapter Text

When they all got off the Hogwarts Express, they were all exhausted, shivering in the cold night air. Everyone besides Harry and Draco, obviously. Draco felt too warm inside to be cold.

He and Harry spent the rest of the ride they had left whispering jokes to each other and fighting hard not to laugh as to not wake everyone up, they also learned a lot about each other and shared plenty of secrets, mostly Draco though because he can't keep a secret to save his skin and also because Harry didn't have many secrets to share. Needless to say, they got off the train and ended up uncharacteristically close, much to the suspicion of their friends. 

Their friends. Draco felt giddy thinking that Harry Potter was now part of their circle and he combusted at the thought every time.

He was dragged out of his thoughts when a small source of light—a lamp—approached them, and with it a booming voice: “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there, Harry?” the big, burly man—Hagrid, Draco remembered from when he first met Harry—asked Harry, who nodded with a smile. 

Hagrid beamed down at him and continued his yelling, “C'mon, follow me—any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!” slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path.

Thick trees encasing the group on both sides, it was so quiet that Draco could hear the trees swaying in the wind. He realised halfway that Pansy was gripping his arm tight with fear, so he gave her a fond smile in hopes that it would ease her worries. Her grip loosened a tiny bit. 

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.” There was a loud “Oooooh!” that startled Greg so much he bumped into Draco which caused Draco to bump into Pansy, who bumped into Harry. Blaise stifled a laugh and muttered something about dominoes which made Harry sputter. 

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake and perched atop a high mountain on the other side—its windows sparkling in the starry sky—was Hogwarts. It was grander than what Draco's father had told him, and he couldn't help but stare at it in. 

“more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore, Draco paled and glanced at his friends, only to find Theodore already in a serious discussion with Blaise on how they could fit seven people into one of those tiny, rickety boats. 

Draco laughed fondly at the two boys, shaking his head, “It'll just be for a few minutes, idiots,” he heard Pansy say, as Vince and Greg partnered up, no universe would be able to separate those two. Pansy clung tight to Draco, much to Blaise's dismay, so all three of them decided to go together.

Draco expected Harry to go with him, but found him trapped between Vince and Greg who were looking at him with excited eyes. He sent a pleading look toward Draco's way but Draco just laughed and pulled Theo with their group as they boarded the boat. 

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. “Right then—forward!” And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

While on the boat, Pansy finally let go of Draco and chose to sit near Blaise instead this time, which made Draco look at Theo—who now sat next to him—with knowing eyes and laugh. They sat like that for a while, Blaise and Pansy quietly whispering to each other, and Theo and Draco pretending like they can't hear them. 

There wasn't much to do on the boat, and it moved at an excruciatingly slow pace that made Draco want to curse himself with his new wand. Instead, Draco just busied himself with looking at Theo. 

Theodore Nott, aside from Pansy, was Draco's closest friend who often fought for that position with Blaise, except Theodore—unlike Blaise—was clingy and wrote to Draco constantly. He had curly, mousy brown hair, he was easy on the eyes, and had a soft gaze that made you want to trust him easily, but not for too long because his wicked smile would break that illusion in two.

Draco prided himself as a guarded person, not as nonchalant as Blaise was, but he was still withdrawn. He was skilled in occlumency, a trick that his mother taught him when he was young, so when he found himself unable to occlude and left open in front of Theo, he didn't know what to think. Theo's easy humor makes Draco laugh and his carefree attitude was comforting, and he often surprised him with quick, witty remarks that would leave him sputtering. Draco was glad to have him as a friend. 

His train of thought was broken when Theo clasped his hand on Draco's shoulder, flashing his smile and pulling Draco up and out of the boat—they reached an underground harbor of sorts then clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. 

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door. Harry and co. reunited with Draco's group and Draco was glad to see Harry in one piece, and now seemingly good friends with Vince and Greg, who were behind him like two large bodyguards. Draco also found a small girl with big, bushy hair and two rather large front teeth tailing them, and Draco assumed she was probably the 4th person on their boat. 

When the door swung open, a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. Draco suspected this to be Professor Minerva McGonagall, someone his father told him not to cross. 

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid. Bingo. “Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” She said while pulling the door wide. The entrance hall was big, but not Malfoy Manor scale. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.”

Draco started to tune out her speech, watching Harry as he intently listened to Professor McGonagall with his piercing green eyes. When Harry nervously tried to flatten his misbehaving hair after McGonagall's suggestion to smarten themselves up, Draco laughed. “Don't laugh,” Harry mumbled, smiling despite himself. Draco's stomach did something weird again but Draco ignored it. He looked away to help Pansy with her hair, tucking it behind her ears before fixing Theo's robes, Theo mumbled something about Draco looking perfect which made him scoff and roll his eyes at Theo. 

Then a commotion happened that made Draco flinch and caused Harry to jump about a foot in the air—several people behind him screamed. “What the—?” He heard Harry say. When Draco looked to see what everything was about, twenty ghosts streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. Draco took this chance to meet his friend's eyes, Pansy was sickly pale while Blaise looked bored next to her. 

“What are you all doing here?” A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years and nobody answered. “New students!” said the Fat Friar—Draco guessed—as he smiled around at them. “About to be Sorted, I suppose?” A few people nodded mutely. “Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said the Friar and Draco scoffed at that. Yeah, right. 

“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.” Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall. “Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first years, “and follow me.”

As the Sorting Hat finished up its ghastly song, the students broke into a loud crack of applause. Draco was sure he wasn't in on some joke they all had because who in Salazar’s name would applaud that. 

When he looked to his left, Theo was standing next to him and the look in his eye made Draco know he was thinking the same thing, which caused Draco to snort. Then Draco was bumped on his right, and when he glanced there Harry was looking at him with wary eyes. 

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” McGonagall said while holding a long roll of parchment, she glanced at the parchment and yelled “Abbott, Hannah!” then a girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the Hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment’s pause—“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat. Theo groaned next to him and Draco snickered. 

After a while, Millicent Bulstrode was called and she was put into Slytherin, and this time Draco applauded. He was acquainted with Millie from a ball he attended a few years ago, he found her to be quite dashing but the look in Theo's eye signalled he didn't think the same. 

Draco heard a few other names like “Granger” who was put into Gryffindor, she seemed to be the bushy haired girl he saw earlier, Hermione. Draco thought it was a pretty name. Then there was “Longbottom” being called and Draco perked up, finally another name he recognized! But the boy who stepped up looked nothing like what he expected a Longbottom to look like, and he found himself to be quite disappointed. 

When Draco was called, Theo bumped his shoulder and Draco rolled his eyes. He stepped forward and sat onto the school, the Hat was barely even on his head when it yelled “SLYTHERIN!” and Draco's heart swelled with pride. 

The table housing the Slytherins applauded, some whooped, and Draco went over to them. Sitting with Vince and Greg who were also sorted into Slytherin.

Millicent was next to him, and they both exchanged greetings with polite smiles. Pansy and Theo were next and to nobody's surprise they were put in Slytherin, when they both walked toward them, Millicent—“just call me Millie”—scooted over and made space for them to sit next to Draco. Theo ruffled Draco's hair much to his dismay and Pansy happily linked her arm into Draco's and he supposed it was because Blaise wouldn't be there to join them for a long while. 

“Potter, Harry!” called Professor McGonagall and the Great Hall went silent. Draco could hear the whispering and he felt bad for Harry. When he walked over to the stool looking as pale as Draco, he tried to smile at Draco but it just came out as a grimace by how nervous he was. The Hat then fell over his eyes and it took a while to come to a decision, a minute passed and then two and Draco was starting to get nervous himself. Pansy's arms held Draco's tighter as the time passed by. 

Harry looked to be conversing with the Hat, and now Draco was nervous if he'd really turn out to be a Slytherin like he was saying on the train. Then the Hat took a deep breath and shouted the loudest it ever had—”SLYTHERIN!” 

The cheers from his table were deafening and Draco was one of them, loudly applauding as Harry speed walked to their table. Pansy sent a look to Draco that he couldn't read and scooted over so it was Harry that sat next to him instead. 

“Took you long enough!” said Theo from his other side and he bumped Harry's fist over Draco's head. When Harry sat down, he locked eyes with him and Draco was once again victim to that enchanting green. 

“Hi,” Harry said, a small smile on his face. 

“Hey,” Draco replied, breathless. 

For a moment, they just looked at each other like that. Draco couldn't hear anything, and it felt like just the two of them in the Great Hall. He didn't even see when Blaise came to join them, and didn't notice the look Greg was shooting at him from across the table. 

Draco ignored Dumbledore's speech, and Harry turned to look at him “is he a bit—mad?” he asked and Draco frowned. “Who, Dumbledore?” and when Harry nodded Draco shrugged “aren't we all?”

Harry opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by piles of food suddenly appearing in front of them. He looked hesitant to eat but when Draco put a piece of chicken on his plate he dug in. 

After Dumbledore made them sing a dreadful song—the school song—he finally sent them off to bed. The Slytherin first-years all followed a Slytherin prefect and made their way down the dungeons. 

Draco shivered as the prefect led them down in front of a large, blank stone wall, murmuring the word “Imperium” and the bricks in the wall made way to reveal the Slytherin Commons. Draco heard a gasp to his side—probably Harry—as they entered. The prefect led them to their respective dormitories and bid them a goodnight. 

Draco said bye to Pansy and Millie and followed the rest of his friends to the boys’ side of the dormitory, there were nameplates on each door, one said “Crabbe, Goyle, Nott…” which made Theo whine in protest. The door with Draco's name on it had “Malfoy, Potter, Zabini…” and Draco was so happy he didn't bother to read the other names. 

Blaise—unable to wait—opened the door to their room and dived onto the first bed he saw. The room was spacious, but was no bigger than Draco's bedroom at Malfoy Manor—how in the world he'd share this with four other people was beyond him. 

There was a four-poster bed in each corner with one at the very back right as you entered the room and they were all accompanied by their own bedside table and all of their trunks were at the foot of their bed. Draco seemed to have the most stuff, as he had five trunks all stacked on top of each other. He had his mother to thank for that. 

Harry let out a low whistle as he walked inside, looking around the room and muttering about how large it was. Draco took the bed next to Blaise's, and Harry took the bed next to his. Draco had a passing thought about their roommates, seeing as their beds were still empty but he wasn't too worried about them. He was just happy he was sharing a room with Harry—and Blaise, too. 

The first week of classes went surprisingly well. With all his friends being Slytherins, Draco didn't need to worry about finding the time to see them. They walked together to classes, sat with each other at meals, and lounged around the courtyard during occasional free periods. Sometimes they would get lost—the castle seemed to change when they weren't looking, a classroom would be in a totally different place than it was yesterday, as if it was mocking them. 

His favorite class by far was Astronomy, a class that took place every Wednesday just past midnight at the Astronomy Tower.

The night air was cold that high up, and all of their fingers would turn numb as they scribbled their notes. There, he learned about different stars and constellations, even recognizing a few names of his family members who were named after stars. Andromeda was one of them—she was his aunt, his mother's sister, but she was never really brought up and he had never met her. 

His face went incredibly pink one class when the professor had mentioned the constellation Draco. All his friends snickered, and a few Slytherins he didn't know turned to stare. At that moment, he so badly wanted to sink into the floor, but Harry snapped him out of it and whispered in his ear “I didn’t know you were a constellation.” and Draco's cheeks took a while to go back to their normal color. 

After a week of the same routine, Draco perked up when he read Potions on his timetable, which were to be held in the afternoon. It was a shared class with the Gryffindors but he didn't let that spoil his mood. The professor was Severus Snape, their Head of House. Draco remembered meeting him when he was a child, and he saw him a few times at meals—Snape was a tall, quiet man who seemed strict. 

He was pulled from his thoughts when the owls swooped down to deliver the morning mail. Hundreds of wings flapped down from the high ceiling of the Great Hall, circling the students below, their feathers catching the early sunlight from the large windows.

Some students gaped at them, still not used to the sight. An eagle owl—Aquila, a birthday present he received from his father—dropped a small, carefully wrapped package into his lap. It was wrapped in a deep green velvet tied neatly with a silver ribbon. He ruffled Aquila's feathers fondly and gave him a small piece of his egg as a reward. 

Upon opening the package, inside were an assortment of cakes—all of which were his favorites—kept warm by preservation charms. A note from his mother tucked beside them, as he read it he could hear her soft voice congratulating him on being sorted to Slytherin and wishing him well in his classes. His heart warmed when he read her elegant scrawl, imagining her packaging this gift herself with a small smile on her face. There was one thing Hogwarts didn't have, and it was his mother. He missed her dearly. 

“Care to share—?” Theo drawled from behind him, a wicked grin plastered on his face as he reached over Draco's shoulder to grab a slice of Madeira, only for his hand to be promptly swatted away. 

“Over my dead body,” Draco said smoothly, a mischievous glint in his eye, he handed out a chocolate eclair to Pansy, a slice of Fraisier to Blaise, and gave the rest of the box to Greg and Vince—saving two slices, a Fondant au Chocolat and a White Chocolate Mousse slice, for himself and for Harry. 

Theo shrugged, unfazed, as he set a hand on Draco's shoulder and promptly plopped down beside him. The hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment too long before Theo moved it to pluck a strawberry from Blaise's slice of cake, earning him an earful. Draco rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

When Harry showed up to breakfast—frazzled, sleepy around the edges, his hair even messier than usual and his tie half undone—Draco's hand hesitated on the plate of Mousse cake before sliding it toward the empty seat beside him. Harry, surprised, muttered a quiet “thanks,” sitting down and taking a bite. Draco watched him for a moment longer than necessary and felt unreasonably pleased at how content he looked. 

Draco's earlier excitement for Potions was completely erased when he realized that Professor Snape wasn't just strict—he was blatantly biased and a bully. 

Potions class took place down in the dungeons. The air was cold and damp, though only the Gryffindors seemed to be shivering, from what Draco could see. The classroom was dimly lit and the shelves were lined with glass jars, when Pansy wiped the dust off one of them, she yelped as a floating, pickled eye greeted her. Draco turned away before he could laugh. 

When Professor Snape burst into the room after everyone had taken their seats, a few students jumped. He started the class with a roll call and when he got to Harry's name he paused. “Ah, yes,” he said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity.” 

Blaise sniggered at that but he was soon elbowed by Pansy. 

It rubbed Draco the wrong way how a professor would single out a student like that, but he decided to pay no mind to it and focus on the lesson. 

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” Snape began, he spoke in barely more than a whisper, but Draco caught every word. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” 

Draco sat on the edge of his seat as he listened. Though he found the wax-poetic tone odd, he was enchanted by the sound of potion-making, his eyes sparkled in want. This is why he was here. This is what he was here for. 

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly, startling Draco out of his thoughts. He felt Harry stiffen next to him. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Draco's eyes widened, scratching down the question and its respective answer on his parchment. He noticed in the corner of his eye that the Granger girl raised her hand.

“Well?” Snape said, growing impatient. Harry looked to Draco with pleading eyes and Draco nodded his head to his parchment. Harry took a quick glance and looked Snape in the eyes. 

“You'd get the Draught of Living Death, sir,” He replied, and Snape's eyes narrowed, letting out a low hum. He ignored Granger's hand. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” He demanded, looming over Harry now. Harry glanced again at Draco's parchment, “probably in a goat's stomach, sir,” he replied, and Snape scrunched his nose. 

Snape ignored Granger's hand again, before leaning close to Harry, “what is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?” and Draco paled. He didn't know. 

Hermione then stood up, her hand raised as high as she could, and Draco's stomach dropped into a pit of disgusting jealousy.

How dare she know and he didn't? When Harry looked at him for the answer, Draco's lips formed a tight line and he shook his head, and he could see the disappointment in Harry's face. It formed something ugly in him. 

“I don't know,” Harry said quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?” A few people laughed, Draco among them. Snape, however, was not pleased. 

“Sit down,” he snapped at Granger. “For your information, Potter, monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, which also goes by the name aconite. Well? Why aren't you writing this down?” He looked around to the other students as they quickly rummaged for quills and parchment, Draco quickly jotted it down and looked at Harry to do some damage control. Harry looked red in the face but when Draco asked he just said he was fine, so Draco dropped the subject. 

Snape continued the lesson, putting everyone into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. There was an uneven amount of Slytherins and Gryffindors so he grouped Harry with a Gryffindor boy named Weasley—Draco fought hard not to roll his eyes at the name. Draco was paired with Daphne Greengrass; they exchanged a curt nod to each other and got to work. Snape swept around in his long black coat, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs. 

He went over to Draco's desk a few times, often praising his work, moving on and muttering “acceptable” to the other students. Draco couldn't help but feel a surge of pride in his chest at the recognition until clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. The Longbottom boy had somehow managed to melt his partner's cauldron into a twisted lump, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. 

When the potion neared them, Daphne screamed and jumped up onto a stool, Draco instinctively stepped in front of her to block the creeping liquid. 

Draco was too busy making sure his friends were okay to pay attention to Snape loudly berating Longbottom. He looked to Blaise, who was holding a panicked Pansy in a princess carry with wide eyes. Draco wasn't sure if his expression was because of the potion or because Pansy was clinging to him, but he felt happy for them.

He looked past the two lovebirds and found Theo sitting on the desk with a bored look, so Draco figured he was alright. Vince and Greg were still hyperfocused on their potion, standing on their stools and continuing their work, Draco could almost laugh. 

When he looked to Harry though, he found that he was being yelled at by Snape, and from the bits that Draco overheard, he was blaming Harry for what happened to Longbottom, Harry opened his mouth to argue but the Weasley boy stepped on his foot to stop him, muttering something in his ear that made Harry look down and stay silent. 

Draco frowned at the sight, unable to get the scene out of his head. He hadn't even heard Snape rewarding him five points to Slytherin for “being a gentleman” until Daphne congratulated him. 

After another hour of what felt like being trapped in Azkaban, they were all dismissed from the lesson and Draco immediately ran to Harry, who was just getting out of the classroom with the Weasley boy at his side. 

He was just about to ask the boy what happened when Pansy beat him to it, “What on earth was that?!” she asked, taking Harry's hand and pulling him further away from the classroom. Draco shot a glare at Weasley who didn't get the memo and continued to follow them around. 

When Harry opened his mouth, he was interrupted by Weasley saying: “Cheer up, Snape's always taking points off Fred and George,” which earned him an eyebrow raise from each Slytherin, “that's because the Weasley twins push Snape's buttons on purpose,” Draco drawled, then he turned to Harry, “He was practically bullying you! Did you do anything to warrant that?” which earned him a solemn nod from Blaise. 

“I don't know,” replied Harry. “I've only just met him today,” he said with a sigh. Pansy scoffed, tucking her hair behind her ears as they walked. “I can't believe it! He's our Head of House, yet he acts like that?” she said, and Draco couldn't agree more. 

When they reached the entrance to the Slytherin Commons, they all turned to look at Weasley, who was still tailing them like they were friends. After a minute of silence, Blaise said: “Mate, do you mind?” and Weasley skedaddled, finally realising he wasn't welcome. 

They all looked at each other and laughed, everyone except Draco. “What was that all about?” He asked Harry, and Harry shrugged, “He wouldn't stop talking to me in Potions, either. We did meet on the platform, so I think he thinks we're friends.” 

Draco frowned, “as if you'd ever befriend a Weasley,” he said with distaste. “Imperium. I mean, how shameless can he get?” The wall parted upon hearing the password and the group walked into the common room. 

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy was an early riser. He liked being up before the sun scorched his skin—when everything was draped in a cool shade of blue and the lake shimmered a soft aqua instead of its usual murky green. He was used to being the first one awake at home, but not by much. So when he got up at 5 a.m. on a Monday only to be met with Blaise's obnoxious snoring, he felt lonely. 

Still, there were plenty of perks to waking up early, like how he could take long, steaming showers without some git banging on the door and yelling at him to hurry up because they wanted to take a dump. 

After dressing in the robes the house-elves had freshly ironed, he made his way to the common room and found Pansy already waiting for him. She was one of the few people who also appreciated early mornings, and they both went up for breakfast. They were halfway out when something on the noticeboard caught his attention, a flyer, and a large grin spread wider across his face with each word he read. 

Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday. 

Pansy groaned next to him, tugging on his sleeves and wrinkling the fabric, but he didn't care. If he had the chance to prove himself at being good at Quidditch to the entire school, it was now. He could maybe even catch the attention of the Quidditch captain! 

By the time Harry and Blaise joined them in the Great Hall for breakfast, Draco was already halfway into a dramatic retelling of how he'd fled from a bunch of “barmy muggles" on his broom. Lazily gesturing to a crowd that was much too old to believe him but still did anyway. Harry dropped into the seat beside him, grabbing a piece of toast, and buttered it with deliberate slowness—before promptly shoving it right into Draco's open mouth.

“You talk too much,” said Harry, biting down on his lip to suppress a laugh. 

Draco’s cheeks turned pink and he hit him hard on the arm, took the toast from his mouth and ate it. 

The group that once surrounded Draco glanced at each other before dispersing back into their own circles. Blaise and Pansy being the only ones left with them, but Draco didn't pay much attention to them, solely focusing on Harry's green eyes (that were looking at him!) they bumped each other's shoulders and quietly shared a few giggles, sitting closer and closer. 

“Did you see the notice?” Harry brought up suddenly, turning his head away from Draco to butter his own toast. Draco cleared his throat, “Yes, actually. I was going to tell you but you were off into dreamland,” he said in sing-song and took a sip of his juice. 

Harry chuckled, took a bite out of his toast, and roughed up his hair out of his face. “Yeah, you think I'll make a fool of myself out there?” he said around a mouthful of toast. Gross. 

“Don't worry yourself, you've got the best of the best to teach you,” Draco said reassuringly and Harry frowned, “who?” he replied and Draco suppressed a grin. 

“Me, obviously,” Draco said and Harry rolled his eyes at that. 

“Obviously,” he muttered, annoyed, but the smile on his face betrayed him. 

The days leading up to Thursday were boring and monotonous. All Draco could think about in class was flying lessons and he found it hard to focus. He'd imagine how he'll somehow charm the whole school with his flying ability and make them think he was the best Quidditch player in existence and immediately sign him up as one of the Slytherin Chasers without a tryout.

Draco didn't know how he would manage that, but the things he'd come up with almost always had him hanging from his broom upside-down. He'd never tried that before, but surely it would be easy enough. 

On Thursday morning, he found himself in a good mood, thinking about what he'd do to get that Chaser position and impressing his friends with his skills. He even started humming in the halls which caused a few people to turn their heads, but he didn't care. 

He was dragged out of his little daydreams when he saw Harry and Weasley walking together across the hall. Harry was walking ahead, sure, but he was still talking with the freckled boy and something akin to anger bubbled up inside Draco. 

He couldn't recall how he managed to get behind Harry and put his hand on his shoulder, but he did and when Harry turned around to face him, his body visibly relaxed upon seeing Draco. “Hi,” Harry squeaked in a quiet tone and he didn't have to say anything more before Draco grabbed his wrist and dragged him away. 

He shoved Harry into an empty classroom, and locked the door on both of them. “Why were you talking to Weasley?” He said, his tone sounding more distant than he intended. 

“I don't know, Ron just came up to me and started talking about flying lessons, I tried to not pay attention but he just wouldn't leave me alone,” Harry said quickly, and Draco furrowed his brow. Since when was he Ron now? 

“Why are you even making such a big deal out of this?” Harry asked after Draco didn't reply. “What's the problem with Weasleys anyway? They seemed fine when they helped me on the platform.”

“I'm not making a big deal out of anything,” Draco muttered, turning away from Harry. “Yes, you are. Answer the question,” he said firmly and that anger-like feeling rose in Draco again. 

“Because Weasleys are blood traitors, okay?” Draco turned sharply to look Harry in the eyes, and Harry just stared at him in confusion. “What does that even mean?” He asked and the answer died in Draco's throat. 

“They're—” Draco attempted, but every answer he thought of sounded worse than the last. “It's just a silly thing my father would say occasionally. He told me to avoid Weasleys because they were dirty, blood traitors who associated with—mudbloods.” He slapped his hand over his mouth, his eyes widening. He hadn't ever said that word before. 

Harry looked even more confused now. “Mud—what? What does that mean? You're not making any sense, Draco,” but Draco just kept his mouth shut, not trusting whatever would come out of it. “If it's so silly then why are you acting like this?” Harry tried again, but Draco's eyes were staring somewhere distant. 

“Just—don't befriend him, okay?” Was all he could manage, and Harry scoffed. “You can't tell me what to do, you're not even saying anything reasonable, Draco.”

“Fine, whatever, do as you please,” Draco spat, whirling around and walking out of the classroom, leaving Harry there. As soon as he walked far enough, his anger dissipated and he found himself regretting everything he just said and dreading the afternoon. 

At three-twenty in the afternoon, Pansy, Draco, and their other friends briskly walked to the grounds, with the absence of Blaise because he was “feeling faint” and Draco didn't believe that for a second. The slimy git hated flying more than anything, much to his confusion. Riding a broom was the best feeling ever. 

Harry wasn't with their group, he had left early and Draco let him because he didn't know what else to say after their squabble earlier this morning. When Draco told Pansy what happened, she hit him on the arm—hard—and scolded him for overwhelming Harry like that, and that he should be gentle the next time he tells him about how filthy the Weasleys were.

Draco knew that probably wasn't the best advice, and that he should ask Blaise what to do instead, but he was being difficult and faking illnesses so Draco really couldn't, could he. 

After a few minutes of waiting, the Gryffindors arrived, and Draco's eyes widened when he saw Harry walking with them. He could distantly hear Pansy gasping in outrage, but he didn't pay attention to that, he was currently too busy seething in anger. 

When their teacher arrived and instructed them to stand next to a broom, he took the one next to Theo, and he realized he hadn't spoken to him in a while, he had been so caught up with flying lessons that he forgot about his friends. He flashed Theo a smile and Theo visibly brightened, giving him a wink which made Draco laugh. He missed Theo. 

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” said the teacher—Madam Hooch, Draco recalled—“and say ‘Up!’”

Draco rolled his eyes, he could do this in his sleep. He murmured an ‘up’ and the broom obeyed, flying up to meet his hand as he clasped his fingers over the handle. Theo did the same, but Pansy's broom struggled to lift and Draco assumed it was probably because it was so cheap. Pansy successfully did it after her second attempt. 

The rest of the students were still shouting “UP!” as loud as they could, which Draco didn't see the point in. The brooms aren't sentient, and they're not going to obey them if they just shout at it.

The secret is in the way one commands it, extending your magic like a grabber and pulling it up. That's what his mother had taught him when he was seven and he managed to do it after a few tries. 

He noticed Harry's broom jump into his hand on his first try too, and he felt proud. When he realized this, he stomped on the feeling as hard as he could until it died, he was just fighting with Harry, he wasn't about to let himself be proud of him. 

Madam Hooch instructed them to mount their brooms and Draco had been so distracted by Harry that he did it wrong and had to be scolded by Madam Hooch. His cheeks were a bright shade of pink for a long while, Theo snickered and he stuck his tongue out at the brunette boy. 

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—”

Draco was just getting ready to kick off until the Longbottom boy suddenly shot five—twelve—twenty feet into the air before Madam Hooch's whistle could even touch her mouth. After she yelled at him a few times, he seemed to realize how far down the ground was, got scared, and fell to the ground in a sharp crack. 

Draco grimaced at the sight, the same thing happened to him the first time he flew too, and he felt bad for the boy, but Salazar was that hilarious. When he looked at his friends, they seemed to think the same and all three of them burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Did you see his face, the great lump?” He snickered and Theo said something which made him laugh even more. In the back of his mind, he knew it was wrong to laugh, but he seriously needed a pick-me-up after what happened this morning, and this was exactly it. 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” said a Gryffindor girl—the one with a twin—though he didn't know which one it was. Draco was quite charmed to be singled out, despite how many Slytherins were insulting Longbottom. 

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” Pansy said in her shrill voice beside him, flashing the other girl her wicked grin. “Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati,” Ah, the older twin. Draco wondered when Pansy knew their first names, let alone could tell them apart until he was brought out of his thoughts by a shiny object in the grass. 

“Look,” He said as he snatched it from the ground, twirling it in his hand as he held it up to the sun and recognizing it as Longbottom's remembrall. “it's the stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him,” he meant it as more of making an astute observation, but the Gryffindors seemed to take it the wrong way because Harry was now walking over to him. 

“Give that here, Malfoy,” he said. It's Malfoy now, huh? 

Draco smiled in disbelief at the thought of being replaced. Weasley was going to pay. But first— “I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?”

“Give it here!” Harry yelled but Draco already leapt onto his broomstick and kicked off, soaring into the sky. The wind in his silver hair made him whoop and laugh as he looped in circles, he reveled in the moment and the joy of being in the air washed over him. When he noticed Harry moving to grab his broom, he flashed the green-eyed boy a wicked smile and flew further into the trees.

“Come and get it, Potter!” He yelled to Harry, there was no chance in hell Harry could catch him up here. If Harry was going to play this game then Draco would just have to abide by his rules. 

When Harry actually kicked off and flew into the air, Draco was more than a little stunned. This was Harry's first time? Draco almost felt sick, his first time flying ended with him face-planting on the ground and dislodging one of his front teeth. 

He could hear whooping and shouting from down on the ground but he wasn't able to focus on that right now. Harry was in front of him, and he was riding a broom for the first time and was actually good at it. How was life so unfair? 

“Give it here,” Harry called, “or I'll knock you off your broom!”

“Oh yeah?” Draco replied, but sound wasn't reaching his ears at all, he felt like he was underwater despite being up in the air and free. He was supposed to feel free, so why did it feel like he was drowning? 

The next thing he saw was Harry diving toward him head-first and Draco had barely enough time to do a dangerous one-handed swivel that narrowly avoided the other boy, Draco felt even more sick. How was Harry doing that? 

“No Vince and Greg up here to save your neck, Malfoy,” Harry called. 

What? Draco couldn't give two Knuts about Vince and Greg right now. The poor taunt managed to snap Draco out of his thoughts, “catch me if you can, then!” he shouted, zipping past Harry in high speed, or the fastest speed the faulty school broom he was riding would go. 

Harry made a few attempts to intercept him, but Draco zoned in on dodging and weaving, picturing imaginary goalposts and throwing the remembrall as far as he could. In his mind, he just scored the final point for his Seeker to grab the snitch and end the match, confetti everywhere and deafening cheers. 

Except that wasn't what was happening, because Harry dove for the remembrall like his life depended on it and Draco watched in horror as he got closer and closer to the ground, Draco almost called out to him until Harry caught the remembrall a foot from the ground and landed—stumbled—onto the grass. 

Draco zoomed back down onto the ground, almost moving to approach Harry before Pansy stepped in front of him, her face pale and worried. 

“HARRY POTTER!” 

Draco startled, he looked up from Pansy's face and saw the approaching figures of Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. Professor McGonagall approached Harry, her voice deafening, but Draco got the feeling she wasn't going to scold the boy. His eyes met Harry's and the scared look on his face almost made him feel satisfied, until Professor Snape loomed over him. 

He looked up at his Head of House and dreaded the punishment he was about to receive. “Mr. Malfoy, that was the most reckless flying I have ever seen a student do. Five points from Slytherin,” he drawled, his face tight and eyes narrowed. 

Draco looked down in shame, he had expected detention but what he got was arguably worse. Professor Snape almost never deducted points from Slytherin. He turned around, his black cloak dancing in the wind. He looked over his shoulder and Draco realized Snape wanted him to follow. 

With a sigh, he bid goodbye to his friends and followed Snape into the building. They passed by the Charms classroom, where Harry and McGonagall stood outside of, talking to a tall boy—Terence Higgs—the Slytherin Seeker for their Quidditch team. Harry was a lucky git. 

They went up a few floors and stopped at the foot of a giant statue of a gargoyle. They were in front of the Headmaster's office. Draco could feel himself go cold and clammy as Professor Snape said the passcode—“Sherbert Lemon”—he glanced over his shoulder like an order to stay and went up the stairs the gargoyle was previously guarding. 

Draco waited for what felt like hours—but was probably no more than a few minutes—when a tall, older Slytherin student that Draco recognized to be Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Chaser and the Captain, approached and Draco found himself growing more and more confused. 

Snape stepped out a few more minutes later and introduced Draco to Flint. “He will be able to train you to your best potential,” Snape drawled, already looking done with the conversation. After taking no further questions, he turned around and walked down the corridor, his black robes billowing behind him. 

As Snape left, Flint set a heavy hand to his shoulder and had a large, toothy grin on his face that looked a bit strained. “Hope you're as good as Snape says you are, future Chaser. See you at practice next week,” he gave Draco a curt nod and walked down the other corridor, leaving Draco utterly speechless. 

What. Just. Happened. 

Draco didn't remember how he got back to the Slytherin dormitories, but as he opened the door, he could see Pansy, Blaise, Theo, Vince, and Greg all sitting on his bed and his part of the floor, at first he thought Harry ran off to the Weasley boy again because apparently they're friends now, until Pansy moved her big head to reveal Harry's face looking at him. They all were. 

“So… Heard you got into some serious trouble with Snape while I was gone,” Blaise drawled, a small hint of a smile on his lips. “He took points from you?”

“Five,” Draco muttered, walking to his bed and collapsing on it just after Pansy and Harry shuffled to make room. Blaise hissed and patted Draco on the back, “I'm assuming you got detention?”

“Not really,” he replied, his voice muffled into the sheets. “You sure? He seemed pretty mad,” said Pansy, dragging her fingers in his hair and sifting through the silver-blonde streaks, the gel on them had dissolved in the heat of flying earlier. 

“I'm sure… I only just got offered a position as Chaser,” he mumbled, trying to be as nonchalant as possible but everyone still gasped—including Harry. After a beat of silence, Draco tried to lift himself off the bed until Pansy squealed and tackled him back down. “Congratulations, Dray!” She said happily, planting kisses into his hair that felt good. 

Blaise pushed her face away from him and gave Draco's hair a ruffle, giving him a similar congratulations while Vince and Greg just clapped from the floor. When Draco turned to look at Theo, the brunette boy was just sitting there until he hugged him so tight Draco could barely breathe, whispering an “I'm proud of you,” that made Draco's heart swell. 

He caught Harry's eye when they separated and it was quiet for an awkward minute until— “Congrats, Draco,”—Draco was so touched his eyes welled with tears as he tackled Harry into a tight hug. 

“Does this mean we're friends again?” He whispered into Harry's ear, and Harry let go to look him in the eyes, those enchanting green. “We never stopped being friends, dummy. I was just mad at you,” Harry laughed and hugged him again. “Plus, you're kind of the reason I got the Seeker position,” he added and the whole room stiffened. 

Draco let go, pressing their foreheads together and yelled, “I knew it!” 

Chapter Text

Perhaps it was because of Quidditch practice four (technically three, but after his stunt with Harry, Draco felt the need to practice even harder than normal.) evenings a week on top of all his schoolwork constantly piling up, but Draco hadn't even noticed the time pass until it was Halloween morning and woke to the pleasant scent of baking pumpkins and too-sweet candy wafting through the halls of the castle. Even better, the first-years were set to learn Wingardium Leviosa in Charms lessons today, the spell that could make things fly.

Ever since the horrible first Potions lesson by Snape, Draco had started making it a habit to brush-up on some advanced reading, just so he knew what he was getting into. He had attempted the spell before, in the library just past curfew, when he was too tired to think straight, and managed a little twitch of the quill he practiced on. He was confident he could do better with some proper teaching. 

In class, Professor Flitwick set the students into pairs to practice, (Draco had gotten the weirdest feeling of Déja Vú.) the class was a double lesson with the Gryffindors, which didn't bode so well this time because Draco had to be partnered up with Hermione Granger. 

He thought Granger was pretty but that didn't stop him from being annoyed every time she opened her bucked-teeth mouth. The girl was—by every description—a know-it-all, and she wasn't even nice about it. 

“Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick. Draco took a deep breath and repeated the wrist movement with utmost concentration; swish and flick! When he felt ready, he repeated the motion in accompaniment with the magic words, directing the tip of his wand to the feather in front of him. 

“Wingardium Leviosa,” he muttered, and the feather left the table and flew about an inch into the air. Draco smiled, that was much better than his sorrowful library attempt. 

“You're saying it wrong,” he heard a squeaky voice next to him say, and when he turned, he saw Granger was looking at him. “It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.” and Draco felt a bit offended. He was making the ‘gar’ nice and long, or whatever that means. “Also, you have to say it louder,” she added, and Draco felt even more insulted. Nothing would benefit you if you yell and brute force your way into things, ugh. Gryffindors. 

“You do it, then, if you're so clever,” he snarled, and Granger turned back to their feather and pointed her wand at it. 

Granger rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!” and the feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads. 

“Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, and Draco felt that sick feeling again, the same one he felt when Harry rode his broom for the first time. “Everyone, see here, Miss Granger's done it!”

Draco felt the rage in his stomach rise, he did it first. Just because some Gryffindor know-it-all did hers all flashy doesn't erase that. He was in a bad mood for the rest of the lesson. 

“It's no wonder no one can stand her,” he complained loudly to his friends in the crowded corridor as they walked to their next class, ““It's Levi-o-sa!” Ugh, give me a break. She's a nightmare!” and Harry snickered at that until someone pushed past him, causing him to bump into Draco. 

“Do you mind?” Draco clicked his tongue, but then he realized who bumped into Harry and he felt grim, disgusting satisfaction form on his face. “I think she heard you,” Pansy said next to him, also smiling. 

“Looks like she was crying,” Harry mumbled, and Draco rolled his eyes. “Let her cry, someone had to call her out at some point.” and the conversation ended there. 

Draco and Harry had just sat down onto their table in the Great Hall, freshly showered and coming back from Quidditch practice. Draco was so hungry, he didn't bother to wait until Harry sat down before munching on the delicious feast in front of them. Harry was too busy admiring the decorations. 

The Great Hall was all set up for Halloween, there were thousands of live bats fluttering around the walls and ceiling, some even swooping down over the tables in low, black clouds. 

A few minutes after digging into their food, Pansy dropped onto the chair across from them and smiled wickedly, “guess who I just overheard,” she asked them in a low voice, and Draco failed to answer because his mouth was full of chicken but he did raise an eyebrow (It was so un-Malfoy of him, but he was hungry, okay?) 

She rolled her eyes and leaned closer, “I overheard Parvati telling Lavender—the chick with the childish accessories—that Hermione's crying in the girls’ bathroom, and hasn't come out for hours,” she snickered, and Draco swallowed hard as to not laugh at the news. Serves her right. “I didn't even say anything that terrible, what a snowflake,” he cackled, Pansy joining him. 

Harry just frowned and continued eating, and Draco wondered if he felt bad. Harry wasn't like the other Slytherins, so Draco's sure he wouldn't find that as funny as it was. 

Suddenly, Professor Quirrell—the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—burst through the doors of the Great Hall, startling Draco out of his thoughts. His turban was askew and his face ridden with terror. He reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know.”

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint. 

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers shooting out from the Headmaster's wand to bring silence. 

“Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your House back to the dormitories immediately!” At that, all the Prefects stood up and started yelling for their Houses. The Slytherin Prefects more unsure than the others. 

“How could a troll get in?” asked Harry as he got up from his seat, moving to follow the Prefects but Draco grabbed his wrist to stop him. “Some dimwit probably let it in, I don't know. What I do know, though, is that we can't go back to the dorms,” He said as he stood, and Harry frowned, “why?”

“Because our dormitories are in the dungeons, idiot!” Pansy leapt up, her covered face in panic as she clung to Draco's arm, “what are we going to do?!”

“I don't know, Pans,” Draco mumbled, then Harry suddenly grabbed him. 

“I've just thought—Hermione.”

“What about her?” Draco replied. 

“She doesn't know about the troll.” Harry said and Draco paled. 

“Who cares about Hermione?” Pansy cut in, exasperated, but Draco and Harry were already moving. “Oh, all right!” she groaned and ran to catch up to them. 

She bumped into Draco's back when they stopped, and she yelped, rubbing her forehead, “Watch it—!” she exclaimed but Draco turned around and covered her mouth, suddenly a foul stench reached her nostrils. 

“Is that you?” she whispered to Draco, and Draco was a bit offended by that. 

And then they heard it—a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Harry pointed—at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long. The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

“The key’s in the lock,” Harry muttered. “We could lock it in.” 

“Right,” Draco said nervously, the mere sight of the troll enough to make him quiver. 

“No, you dunderheads, that's the girls’ bathroom!” Pansy exclaimed, her hands gripping tightly to both of their wrists before they could move. 

Draco hissed, she was right. “Then what are we supposed to do?” called Harry, “Hermione's still in there!” Pansy rolled her eyes, “you don't know that, she might've gone by now. We can't just risk our lives for someone who we aren't even sure is there,” she reasoned and as much as Draco agreed with her, he was the reason Granger was even in the girls’ bathroom in the first place. 

Then, all three of them heard something that made their hearts stop—a high, petrified scream—and it was coming from the girls’ bathroom. 

Before Pansy could even shout her name, Harry was already running toward the chamber, Draco and Pansy in tow, he pulled the door open and they ran inside. Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

“Confuse it!” Harry said desperately to Pansy, and, in a panic, she seized a tap and threw it as hard as she could against the wall. Draco was too stunned to move. 

The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.

“Oi, halfwit!” yelled Pansy from the other side of the chamber, and she struggled to pull out her wand as she threw a stinging hex at it. The troll didn’t even seem to notice the spell hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Pansy instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

“Come on, run, run!” Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she couldn’t move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror. The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again, spotting Draco and started toward him, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll’s neck from behind. The troll couldn’t feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry’s wand had still been in his hand when he’d jumped—it had gone straight up one of the troll’s nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

Granger had sunk to the floor in fright, Pansy rushing to help her up; Draco pulled out his own wand, finally unfreezing—and cast the first spell he could think of: “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The club flew suddenly out of the troll’s hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over—and swung at the troll's head with a sickening crack. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble. The club followed right after, Draco having exhausted himself. 

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Draco was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done. Pansy slowly approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

It was Granger who spoke first.

“Is it—dead?” She asked, her voice trembling. “I don’t think so,” said Harry, “I think it’s just been knocked out.” He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll’s nose.

It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue. “Urgh—troll boogers.” He wiped it on the troll’s trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them look up. They hadn’t realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll’s roars.

A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Professor Snape, with Professor Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

“What on earth were you thinking?” said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory?” Professor Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. Then a small voice came out of the shadows. “Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me.” 

“Miss Granger!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed, Granger had managed to get to her feet at last. “I went looking for the troll because—I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I’ve read all about them.” Draco stared at her, wide-eyed. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

“If they hadn’t found me, I’d be dead now. Parkinson distracted it while Harry stuck his wand up its nose, and Malfoy knocked it out with its own club. They didn’t have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived." The three of them tried to look as though Granger's story wasn’t new to them.

“Well—in that case…” said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four of them, “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?” Granger hung her head. Draco was speechless. Granger was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had to get them out of trouble. 

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” said Professor McGonagall. “I’m very disappointed in you. If you’re not hurt at all, you’d better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses.”

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Draco, Harry, and Pansy, “Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Slytherin five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.” They hurried out of the chamber and didn’t speak at all until they had climbed a floor down. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

“Can't believe it,” Pansy grumbled. “Fought a whole troll and only got fifteen points.”

“We did break the rules,” Draco chimed in.

“Yeah, Dray, but I could earn fifteen by answering a question and batting my eyelashes at Professor Binns,” Harry laughed and Draco grimaced at the picture his mind conjured. 

November was an uneventful month for Draco, he had hoped that with the start of the Quidditch season that he'd be able to play for the team now after months of practice, but was sorely mistaken when he and Harry asked Flint about it at their next session. 

“Have you gone barmy?” Flint cackled. When they first started training, he had been as stiff as board and acted like there was a broom up his arse, Draco assumed it was probably because he was talking to Draco—the Malfoy heir—and Harry—The Boy Who Lived.

Now though, after months of working together, Flint would now casually converse with them, even lightheartedly bullying the two. 

“Well, I hope not,” Harry drawled, and Flint's grin faltered. “Ah—look, Dumbledore might've allowed me to train you, but he and Snape… They won't allow you to play until your second year, well, Snape won't. Said it's too dangerous for ickle firsties like you,” he ruffled up Harry's hair and pat Draco on the shoulder, he looked genuinely sorry. “And I agree, Quidditch is a tough sport, not worth ruffling your feathers this early.”

Draco's stomach pooled with dread at his words, “So, what's the point of us training then?” he asked, but he probably already knew the answer.

“To toughen you up, ‘spose. I'm not too sure with Snape's plan, just following orders, really. You know how surprised I was when he called me over and started talking ‘bout how good you were? I knew right then that you were going to be my new Chaser, Snape never compliments people.” He said to Draco, but he left Harry out of the equation. 

“What about Harry?” Draco asked, and Flint hissed, “Right, uhm, didn't mention him much. Just told me I'd be training him too, probably why McGonagall went to get him and not Snape, right?” Draco could see the growing disappointment on Harry's face and Flint seemed to notice too, because he suddenly whipped around and dismissed the two of them. 

December had started off with a bang, because Hogwarts woke one morning to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The students, of course, were overjoyed by this discovery. The Weasley twins especially, bewitching several snowballs to follow Professor Quirrell around, knocking off his turban to the point that he had stopped wearing it out of sheer annoyance. 

The only one who didn't seem to like the cold though was Draco, constantly shivering despite wearing the most layers out of anyone in the whole school, he even had to stop wearing hair gel because it had a terrible reaction to the cold, leaving his silver-blonde hair free and in his eyes. Blaise found all this to be hilarious. 

“It's devastating, really,” Blaise said with a wry smile as they were walking out of potions, their breaths forming white clouds of mist. “What is?” Harry asked. 

“That the ice prince hates the cold,” he snickered and Pansy gasped, “You heard that rumour too?” She said, giggling. “What rumour?” Draco chimed in, annoyed, having a gut feeling about where this was going. 

“Well, the girls have been talking about you lately,” said Pansy, and Draco groaned. “Salazar, what are they saying?” Pansy just laughed. 

Blaise was the one who ended up answering, “Oh, nothing malicious. Actually it's quite the opposite,” “What do you mean?” They turned the corner and walked into the Great Hall, and suddenly everyone started staring at Draco. 

Their group stopped right at the entrance, overwhelmed, as Blaise leaned in, “They have the hots for you,” he murmured, trying his best to hide a snicker. 

Draco shook his head, his cheeks and nose turning impossibly pink before he sped-walked to the Slytherin table and sat down, his friends quickly catching up to join him. 

This was Draco's worst nightmare and dream come true. He’s always wanted attention, but not this kind! 

Harry sat beside him, bumping his shoulder into his but Draco didn't reciprocate, he could still feel everyone staring and he wanted to melt into the floor. “Blaise is exaggerating, they just think you're cuter now,” Pansy and Blaise plopped on the seats across as they giggled loudly, “I think it's because of the lack of hair gel,” supplied Blaise, reaching to ruffle Draco's wavy hair. 

“Really? I thought it was because his skin's so pale,” argued Pansy, “winter made the pink in his cheeks so obvious," "Who cares about his skin when that helmet’s gone,” Blaise teased. Draco hid his face in his hands. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Pansy assured, he heard Blaise mumble “can barely call that head little, can you,” and Pansy hit him hard. “I’m sure that they'll all forget about it during the hols’ when we all go home,” and that was probably the wrong thing to say, because they all went quiet. 

“Ah, sorry, Harry…” she muttered, looking down. Harry was one of the few people among the Slytherins that chose to stay at Hogwarts instead of going home, when Draco asked him why, he just said there wasn't anything worth going home to and Draco felt sad for his friend. Of course, being the only person in his House who chose to stay meant that he'd be alone for the holidays, and that made Harry much more moody than he usually was. 

The morning mail arrived just in time before things got awkward, a package dropped onto Draco's head and he hissed in pain, much to the amusement of the Slytherins—most especially Blaise. He glared at Aquila, who chirped smugly and flew away, flapping his large wings and creating gusts of wind that blew Draco's hair in wild directions. 

Upon inspection of the package, it was square and small in size—no bigger than Draco's hands—but it was heavy, no trace of the usual weightless charms his father would place. The wrapping wasn't the usual velvet or silk that his mother would use to wrap, instead it was paper with a tacky snowflake pattern held together by clear, sticky adhesive that Draco didn't recognize, and his brows furrowed at the sight of it. 

Blaise let out a low whistle, “looks like Christmas came early for our ice prince,” and the table collectively giggled. Giggled. Salazar, Draco was embarrassed. 

“Who's it from?” Pansy asked, leaning forward to get a good look at the parcel. Draco took another look, but there was no note. “Check inside, maybe there's a love letter,” Blaise teased, a foxy smile on his face. 

He shot a glare at Blaise, picking at the adhesive didn't seem to work though, it was stuck to the wrapping. Harry tapped him on his shoulder, and Draco turned to look. “It's tape, won't come off if you pick at it. Just rip the wrapping,” he advised and Draco was dumbfounded. What a waste, even if the paper was obnoxious. 

He did as he was told and tore the wrapping apart, and a note fell out. Harry picked it up and upon reading it, he laughed. “What? What's it say?” Blaise asked eagerly. Draco was so not going to recover from this. 

“To you, whose eyes are as cold as ice.” he said, and Draco willed himself not to turn pink, the whole table was laughing now. “That's definitely for Draco, all right,” Pansy giggled, wiping the corners of her eyes. 

“There's more,” Harry said, reading it, and Draco expected him to laugh some more but his lips just parted in shock. He then gave it to Pansy, who paused to read then gasped. “What? Show me, show me,” begged Blaise but Pansy kept the note close to her heart. “Uh, no, this is only for us three, sorry Blaise,” and he visibly deflated. 

Draco looked at them in confusion but continued to rip the wrapping until the box was visible, opening it he was met with a knit hat and a matching pair of winter gloves stuffed inside, the color a pretty pale blue with white trim that had a similar hue to Draco's eyes. The whole table gasped at the sight of the gift. 

The note was promptly shoved into his face by Pansy, forcing him to read the small scrawl, 

“To you, whose eyes are as cold as ice, 

Words cannot describe how thankful I am to you and to your friends for your help on Halloween. I hope this gift could pay you back, and if not, I don't know what else I could do to show my gratitude. I hope to soon become friends with you. 

Forever in your debt,

H.G

P.S. I only found the time to make a gift for you, but not to worry, as I will be busying myself this Christmas making gifts for your friends as well.”

Draco's eyes widened as he finished reading the last few words. It was obvious who this was from. Granger. Granger made this for him. And she wanted to be friends. He could barely believe it. 

Pansy snapped him out of it by yelling, “Well, go on and wear it, you lucky sod!” and Draco chuckled distantly as he put the hat on his head, ditching the gloves. He was surprised to find that his head was now quite warm, he guessed Granger cast a warming charm on it. 

Draco wore the hat the morning they were all set to leave for the holidays, the gloves safely tucked away at the bottom of one of his trunks. 

Dumbledore announced the night before, at the parting feast, that classes were called off today, so that everyone could properly bid their friends goodbye. Since most of them had to go home for the holidays, Draco and his friends decided to spend their last day down by the lake. 

“Remind me again why we're out here by the frozen lake, and not by a warm fireplace inside the castle?” Draco whined, begrudgingly trudging down the hill toward the lake. Pansy sighed, “because Draco, it's our last day until the hols’ and we haven't even tried ice skating yet, even though we've been planning to since November.” 

“You mean you've been planning to, and you can ice skate in Switzerland, isn't that where you're going for Christmas?” Pansy glared at Draco, “I meant together, and I can't ice skate there, idiot. My folks would have my head if I don't “spend the trip with family” or something.”

“Do we even have ice skates?” Blaise heaved, already out of breath. He really needed some exercise. “No, but Hermione'll transfigure some for us, she said she'd meet us there,” said Pansy. 

“Wait, Granger's coming?” Draco asked and Harry was the one who answered, “Yeah, so's Ron. I asked him to,” Draco frowned, Ron. “Right.” 

“Why do you still call her Granger? After all you've been through surely you've gotten close,” asked Blaise, huffing. He had found out about what happened on Halloween, and was a little more than hurt because none of them told him, but he moved on quickly. 

“I've never actually talked to her aside from the time I, uh, insulted her and made her cry, and it doesn't feel right for me to call her Hermione, so,” Draco said awkwardly, Blaise opened his mouth but Pansy Interrupted him, “We're here!”

Surely enough, Granger and Weasley were down by the lake, throwing stones in a part of the water that wasn't frozen. Upon hearing Pansy's voice, Granger turned and waved at the approaching group. Weasley wasn't so enthusiastic. 

They exchanged polite greetings before Granger—like Pansy said—transfigured some stones of roughly the same size into ice skates, Draco felt a bit odd at how good she was at that. The same feeling he got when Harry rode a broom first try, and the time Granger outdid him in Charms. 

Pansy was the first to get on the ice, she was as good as she always was, gliding on the smooth surface. She always reminded Draco of a swan whenever she skated. Draco envied how at peace she looked twirling at the center of the lake. 

Next was Blaise, who offered his hand to Granger, and they both got on together. It would've been sweet if not for the fact that Granger was miles better at skating than Blaise, and she was the one who ended up supporting him as he slipped and slided like a baby unicorn. 

Weasley then went and Draco had no notes for his performance, he was painfully average in it like he was in everything, and Draco laughed as Pansy gracefully spun around the ginger who looked overwhelmed. 

“You're not going to go?” Harry asked from beside him, and Draco tore his eyes away from the scene to look into his green eyes, except Harry wasn't looking at him—but to the lake in front of them still. 

“I'm not that good, no,” Draco blinked, putting on an awkward smile and looking back to their friends. “Who cares?” said Harry, “I've never tried it before, so I'm sure you'll do better than me. You'd look great out there.”

Draco felt his cheeks go hot. What does that have to do with anything? 

After Draco didn't say anything for a while, Harry shrugged and put on his skates. “Suit yourself, I'm going to go and face-plant on that ice,” he said and Draco laughed. 

After a few minutes of everyone having fun skating on the lake and Draco sitting on a nearby rock to avoid getting his arse wet, Weasley—of all people—came up to him, and Draco's mood immediately dampened. 

“Don't you ever get bored,” Weasley started, taking off his skates and resting on the wet grass next to Draco with a big sigh, “of just sitting there and watching other people enjoy themselves?” 

“Aren't you ever bored of being constantly circled by Pansy out there like you're dragon bait?” Draco drawled and Weasley let out a hearty laugh. “No,” he replied, “despite making me feel stupid for the first few minutes, it's fun when she does that. Makes you feel included.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “what an optimistic outlook,” “Don't start using your fancy words on me,” and Draco looked at him weird. After a minute of silence, a thought occurred to Draco, “Did Harry put you up to this?” he asked, getting up. 

“Did Harry put me up to what?” Weasley asked, confused. “To come over and talk to me like I'm—like I'm some charity case,” Draco replied, his voice getting louder and more unsteady with each word. 

“What? What are you talking about—No, I just wanted to be friendly,” Weasley explained and Draco scoffed, quickly tying his skates. “Well—be friendly to someone else. I'm not going to be swayed by you like Harry was,” he spat and got on the ice, angrily skating away at an alarmingly fast speed, his cheeks pink and his brows furrowed. 

Draco just skated there, in the middle of the lake, going in circles for what felt like forever—when the wind picked up, Draco didn't feel the chill like he usually did, even as it pelted him and caused his loose shirt to move wildly against his body. His hair kept flying into his face, but he didn't get annoyed at it for once, only pushing it back occasionally as he started to twirl and turn. 

The world blurred around him, and for the first time in a while, Draco felt calm. He wasn’t afraid—not of falling, not of the freezing water beneath him. Maybe it was because all he could think about was how angry he was. He should thank Weasley for that, he thought bitterly.

Somewhere nearby, he heard Pansy whoop, but the sound was distant, muffled by the rush of wind and his own heartbeat. On a sudden impulse, he jumped—and spun once, twice, three times before landing hard. Not good enough. He tried again. And again. And again, until the blades of his skates sliced cleanly through the ice and a spray of frost burst around him like glittering dust.

When the anger ebbed away, he could hear again, and realized how silent it was. The blood that rushed to his ears now disappeared. He looked up and saw his friends definitely not on the lake anymore, and instead were watching him from where he was sitting earlier. They were gaping at him, Pansy more so as her jaw was quite literally on the floor. 

He felt his cheeks go unbelievably hot as he skated back to them, Hermione going to meet him halfway, “that was amazing,” she said with a smile and Draco felt awkward. Why was she talking to him? What did she want? Can he leave? “Oh, thanks,” was all he managed to say, as they skated back to the group. 

Draco was immediately swarmed by his Slytherin friends who were fussing over him, with the absence of Harry, who was quietly conversing with Ron, and Draco felt the anger in him spike again. 

He slapped Pansy's hand away when it went up to fix his hair, and did it himself instead. “You okay, Dray?” Blaise asked and Draco started to get annoyed at him too, why was everyone so nosy? “Fine,” he muttered, kicking off his skates, hurriedly getting his shoes back on, and swiftly left toward the castle, leaving his friends confused. 

Draco didn't meet with them for the rest of the day. 

The next time he saw his friends, it was in the afternoon, and on their way to the small train platform set to leave from Hogwarts. Pansy and Blaise fell into step on either side of him, looking worried but didn't pry. 

“You've worried Harry sick, you know,” Blaise said, and Draco hummed in acknowledgement. He should feel bad, he really should, but for some reason he just feels so angry seeing him with Granger and Weasley—Weasley more so—to the point he didn't care. 

Pansy sighed, “Draco, Harry isn't used to this like Blaise and I are, he doesn't know your—for lack of a better word—tantrums like we do. Talk to him,” Draco was silent for a moment, considering his options, until they arrived at the platform and he saw Harry with Granger and Weasley, and they were laughing together. Draco had never seen Harry smile so wide before. 

Draco's heart hurt at the view and he swiftly slipped past the trio to board the train, he could distantly hear Harry's voice calling for him, but he willed himself not to turn around. 

He found an empty compartment and slid into the seat, when he glanced out the window he could see Harry talking to Weasley—Granger nowhere to be seen—with a frown on his face. Draco stared some more until Weasley put a hand on Harry's shoulder and Draco flicked the blinds down and turned away. 

The compartment door slid open and he expected it to be Pansy and Blaise again until Granger's bushy hair came into view. 

She dropped down onto the seat across from him and the silence was deafening until she sighed and leaned back, “you're jealous of Ron, aren't you?” Draco sputtered, staring at her like she personally offended him. Well, she did. 

“Jealous of what? No, why would you—why would I be jealous of a Weasley?” That didn't convince her. Salazar, that didn't convince Draco, and he was the one saying it. 

Granger stared at him for a moment longer, before shaking her head. “Nevermind, I heard from Blaise back at the lake that you still refer to me as Granger. You know you can just call me Hermione, right? That's my name, you should use it,” Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Granger is also your name,” he replied matter-of-factly, he was suddenly very aware of the collar of his shirt touching the nape of his neck, and how he uncomfortably sank into the seat cushion. Granger laughed, “call me Hermione, Draco,” she said it like it was an order, and that Draco had no choice but to obey. 

“Fine… Hermione,” he muttered, his cheeks pink with embarrassment, and Granger—Hermione—seemed satisfied with that, and took off. 

Draco was left to think about what she said earlier. You're jealous of Ron, aren't you? 

Chapter Text

Spending Christmas break at the Manor was exactly as dreadful as Draco expected. Yes, he enjoyed the cups of tea he shared with his mother every morning, and reveled in the occasional lessons his father would take over when Draco's tutor was being an “idiotic halfwit”, but he found himself surprisingly missing the hustle of Hogwarts—the rustling of scrolls, the chatter of students who were always in other people's business, and the pattering of rushed footsteps to get to class. The Manor was much too quiet. 

His family hosted and attended an excessive amount of christmas balls and parties while he was home. Too many people, too much perfume, too many “my-how-you’ve-grown”s from witches and wizards he barely even remembered. 

He smiled, bowed, and nodded in all the right places, just as he wast taught. But he wished—more than once—that he was back in the Slytherin common room with Blaise and Pansy arguing about who cheated at Exploding Snap, or savoring the horrible lunch with Vince, Greg, and Theo in the Great Hall, or—most of all—he wished he could see Harry again and bump shoulders with him like they used to. 

He returned to his room one night after a particularly exhausting party on Christmas Eve, only to find the place ridden with a various assortment of owls, all holding something wildly different from the rest. A few of which he recognized to be Daisy—Blaise's barn owl—and Spark—Pansy's horn owl. The two birds were snuggled up together on Draco's bed, keeping away from the other ones who seemed much less energetic, like they've been there for hours. 

Daisy was carrying a small box wrapped in navy blue cloth, and when Draco opened it, he was surprised to find a lightweight, silver bracelet that looked like a snake eating its own tail. Draco noticed its eyes had small green emeralds that shimmered in the moonlight. 

Blaise's gift came with no note, but Draco could hear his voice all the same, applauding the irony of the piece of jewelry and how he just had to buy it. 

Pansy's however, did have a note. Draco read the paper first, unrolling it and seeing large blocks of writing that he huffed at, skipping to the last final words that read: 

“—Anyhow, Switzerland was better than I imagined, and I hope you'd come with me someday, for you will surely enjoy it. I sent Spark with a souvenir from my travels to gift you. Happy Christmas, Draco, 

Lots of love, 

Pansy.”

He looked over to Pansy's owl and noticed the box he was holding was small, similar to Blaise's box, but this time it seemed to be shrunk down with a shrinking charm for the owl's convenience. 

He called for a house elf named Choo-Choo (a name that tickled him to bits, so he always called for her) to un-shrink it, opened the package, and was greeted by a beautiful pair of white ice skates that looked to be made just for him. 

When giving it a further look, he noticed the insole was engraved a small “D.M” in a loopy font and he couldn't help the smile that bloomed on his face. 

He grew too tired to open the rest of the presents he had received from probably other various Ladies and Lords, so he sent off all the owls in his room to deliver a “thank-you-for-the-gift-i’ve-never-seen-anything-like-it” message and made them drop all the gifts into a corner of his room. 

He sent off Daisy and Spark with separate letters of their own though, and gave them boxes that held matching necklaces that their owners would surely be delighted to receive. 

After shooing the owls away, he lay sprawled out on his bed listening to the crickets chirping and muffled conversations from the party (that never seemed to end) on the floor below, drifting off and closing his heavy eyelids, not bothering to change out of his formal attire. 

Just before he fell asleep, Draco came to realize he was waiting for a specific white snow owl that never came. 

Nothing notable happened to Draco when he came back to Hogwarts from the holidays, he shook hands with his friends as always and gave Pansy the usual hug. 

One thing changed though, he also gave a hug to Hermione too, as they were exchanging frequent letters to each other during their break, and ended up getting quite close. Not enough to be friends, but close nonetheless. 

Draco swore he saw Theo sulk as he wrapped his arms around Hermione, and he couldn't quite place why, so he ignored it. 

Spring was nothing like he imagined, he always pictured frolicking in the flower beds with his friends—most notably Harry—but that didn't really happen, maybe because he forgot to account for the fact he was allergic to pollen. 

He didn't even see Harry all that much. Aside from sharing a dormitory, they didn't have much of an excuse to meet, especially after the embarrassing way Draco acted before he left. Hermione told him that Harry spent his days hanging out with Weasley, as they had gotten close after spending the holidays together at Hogwarts, and Draco tried not to feel too sick by that information, what else was Harry supposed to do? 

It didn't just stop at Harry though, after the first few weeks of seeing each other were over, they were all bombarded with piles of homework; term-end exams were just around the corner, leaving all of them tired and with barely enough energy to utter a word. 

Draco spent most of his days in the library now, preferably alone, but on a rare occasion he was joined by Hermione for productivity. His friends weren't as fond of studying as he was, so having Hermione around was nice. 

Quidditch practice was off the table, as most of the Slytherin team members were busy studying for their O.W.Ls and their N.E.W.Ts, so Draco didn't even have that as an excuse to see Harry either. 

All in all, time passed by rather quickly, and before they knew it, exams were over—much to their relief—and they were enjoying the last few days of Hogwarts before the summer. 

Draco and his friends decided to ditch the lake this time—seeing as it wasn't frozen anymore and the last time had been a complete disaster, (though Pansy did suggest skipping stones, Draco didn't find the idea of throwing rocks at water particularly entertaining.)

Instead, they chose to lounge on a blanket beneath a large tree in the courtyard. The leaves provided them with cool shade from the sun, which was growing much too warm to sit directly under—telling them that summer was fast approaching. 

Draco's head lay on Greg's stomach in a criss-cross position that Blaise said reminded him of twister, Draco didn't know what that was so he only chuckled to be polite. Blaise usually spouted all sorts of nonsense. 

Pansy was talking all their ears off as she sat between Blaise's legs, with Blaise braiding her now much longer hair. Draco couldn't see what Vince and Theo were up to—they were just out of view, busy climbing the tree up above like the hooligans they were. 

Draco was reading a book, Pansy had snuck it in, saying it was contraband her older sister gave her. The cover reminded him of the muggle books his mother used to hide from him—though he always ended up finding them. The title mentioned something about a picture (whatever that was) and a man named Dorian Gray, the name alone pleased Draco by how sophisticated it sounded. 

When he finished the book, it left him feeling scandalized, the implications of the words he read were something he'd never thought before, and he wondered if the author—Oscar Wilde—was a genius or wrote absolute nonsense. 

“Where did your sister even find this stuff, Pans?” he asked, pushing off his elbow to face Pansy, who was right in the middle of a retelling about how she'd accidentally dyed her own hair pink when she was a child. She'd told that story to them about eight times already. 

"No idea," the girl shrugged, he heard Blaise click his tongue in frustration by her sudden movement. "She did sneak into muggle London one time though,  just to piss our pops off, she must've gotten it from there," she said. 

Draco sighed, laying back on a sleeping Greg's stomach, “can a man really love another man?” He muttered, fiddling with the pages of the book absentmindedly. 

Nobody seemed to hear him, Blaise and Pansy were too caught up in each other, and Greg was snoring like a dead man. Draco was left questioning things about muggles more than he'd ever thought he would. He looked up to the rustling leaves, the sun peaking through the green foliage and blinding his eyes. 

When summer arrived and they all went home, boredom had boarded the train with them. Draco found himself staring up at the Manor’s ceiling for so long to the point even the house elves were concerned. He had the same problems he had when he came home in winter, except the added heat was horrible for his temper. He found himself restless every moment and would take to whining about it to his mother. 

When his mother grew tired of the opinions he'd constantly chatter to her, she locked herself in one side of the Manor, leaving Draco with the other half and Draco was absolutely devastated. Not only was he extremely bored, but he had just lost the one person he could complain to. 

He couldn't talk to the elves because how barbaric was that? And they didn't make great conversation either, always agreeing with a high-pitch “Yes, master Draco!” that made his ears bleed. 

He couldn't lean on his father, he might've been bold misbehaving to his mother but he didn't have a death wish. His father was much too busy for his antics. 

He'd tried searching the libraries and bookshelves in his house, but nothing caught his attention, and the books that were successful, he still found unable to read because he just couldn't sit still. The only book that he could finish was The Picture of Dorian Gray, the book Pansy let him keep, and he read it about a thousand times since coming home. He had read it so much in fact, that he took to reenacting the scenes himself, muttering under his breath and acting as if he were the dashing Dorian Gray, desperate to keep his youth and beauty. 

His father had hired a new tutor to teach him for the summer, a young man who looked to be around eighteen (Draco wasn't sure). He was much more competent than the last one. He was one of the Greengrass boys, Nathan. Despite being llegitimate, Nathan—or Nat, Draco liked to call him—acted much more refined than his pure-blooded brothers, or the ones Draco had met at least. 

The Greengrass family had a knack for birthing snooty sons and uptight daughters (Draco wasn't too sure about the daughters part, he had met Daphne and she seemed quite pleasant, and he recalled Daphne had a sister, though her name slipped his mind.)

Nat was different, though. He wasn't snooty nor was he spoiled, he was the complete opposite. He was humble and he had kind eyes. He had dark brown curls, but they weren't Theodore's mousy color and definitely wasn't like Harry's wild bird's nest. He had defined ringlets, instead. He wasn't tanned like Harry was, but a pale, pinkish color with light freckles scattered on his face. He had an easy smile like Theo, but Nat had dimples at the corners of his mouth, one more noticeable than the other. Draco couldn't pinpoint what color Nat's eyes were, but if he were to describe it, it would be a greenish hazel. 

Draco might've liked Nat, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to be difficult with him. And Nat had a particularly short fuse, though he acted like he didn't. Every time Draco would push his buttons, his ears would go unbelievably red and there'd be bloody murder in his eyes, and it tickled Draco immensely to see. 

One particular lesson was so boring that Draco would refuse to even sit to learn it, even going so far as to stand on his chair to look out the window. He wasn't gazing at anything specific, in fact, he was actually zoning out listening to Nat yelling at him to sit down, and that he needed this job, and other things that Draco found funny. 

“Nat?” Draco called, still looking out at the window, Draco could hear Nat sigh deeply and he fought not to laugh. “Yes, Draco?” he muttered, scratching his eyebrow and looking at their lesson plan that hasn't been touched since they started. 

Draco mulled over the millions of questions in his head, trying to pick one that Nat would surely burst upon hearing, “Do you have a girlfriend?” he settled with. Nat sputtered, almost dropping the papers in his hand and Draco smiled in satisfaction as he looked over to him. 

“What? I—No, I don't, but it isn't any of your business even if I did,” Nat scolded and Draco rolled his eyes. “Why don't you?” he asked, jumping off the chair and getting on the long table that had books scattered across the surface. “Why don't I—what? Have a girlfriend?” he scoffed, a sad smile on his face, “I'm teaching a misbehaving kid for the summer instead of spending it in lavish like my brothers, what do you think? Also, get off the table, your father could see you.” 

Draco shook his head, walking over to where Nat sat and plopped down in front of him. “What school did you attend?” Draco asked, finding himself to be more curious than teasing now. “I went to Hogwarts,” Draco's eyebrows raised, "What House?” he asked and Nat's face formed a wry smile that Draco thought to be handsome. 

“Take a guess,” Nat said and Draco huffed, weighing his options. “Gryffindor?” Nat laughed, “No, I'd be an even bigger disappointment to my father if I was,” Draco nodded and thought harder. 

“Slytherin, then,” Draco decided and Nat laughed some more, “what makes you so sure?” He said and Draco's jaw dropped. “Ravenclaw?! You were in Ravenclaw?” he exclaimed and Nat nodded, chuckling. 

“I take it you're a Slytherin?” Nat asked and Draco shrugged, “I'd be dead to this family if I wasn't.” That pretty much killed the conversation, and Nat glanced at his wrist watch. 

“Well, Mr. Slytherin,” he sighed, sitting up from his chair, “time's up, you've successfully evaded another lesson,” and Draco laughed. “See you next week, Nat.”

Unlike Christmas, where Draco's friends were unable to visit him due to overlapping of plans, the summer was much more lenient and allowed them all to crash at his house for a few days just before their second year. Draco felt like he could cry from relief. 

The first one to arrive was Theo. Draco saw him Apparating just outside the gates with his mother, and he ditched Nat—who was currently in the middle of teaching him about flowers in the gardens—and ran to meet Theo at the gates. 

He hugged Theo tightly, who seemed surprised at first but then reciprocated, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist and squeezing. Draco noticed how much taller Theo had gotten in just the few months they spent apart. 

When they separated, Draco greeted Theo's mother with kisses on the cheeks and she Disapparated a moment later. Draco and Theo just spent a few moments smiling at each other, until Draco could hear footsteps behind them, and Theo's smile faltered. 

“Hello, who are you?” Theo asked and Draco turned around to see Nat lightly jogging to them, panting. “Hello, I'm Draco's tutor, you must be one of his friends,” Nat held out his hand for Theo to shake, but Theo just stared at him before nodding. 

Draco looked between the two of them and sighed, putting a hand on Theo's shoulder, “Theo, this is Nathan Greengrass, my tutor.” he gestured to Nat, “and Nat, this is my dear friend, Theodore Nott.” 

“Greengrass, huh?” Theo said, his words held more bite than Draco expected, and Nat looked awkward. “Yes,” he nodded. “Nat, it's almost time isn't it? Will you be willing to bend the rules for once and cut the lesson short? Pretty please?” Draco begged, giving Nat the biggest pleading eyes he could muster, and Nat looked guilt ridden. 

“Oh, all right, but just this once,” he sighed and Draco cheered, grabbing Theo's hand and pulling him toward the Manor, Theo laughed as he followed. 

Blaise and Pansy arrived soon after and now they were sitting in a circle in the garden talking about the things they didn't get to talk about over letter. “So, what, your mother just showed up with another guy and introduced him as your new dad?” Theo asked, munching on an apple he and Draco picked from one of the trees. 

“Pretty much,” Blaise stretched, leaning into Pansy. “What happened to the last one?” Draco wondered while biting into his own apple, and Blaise smirked, “Zabinis don't spill the family secrets,” that earned him a push from Pansy and a wild cackle from Theo. 

“Enough about you, Blaise,” Pansy rolled her eyes, and they landed on Draco, “Draco, you never told us you had a hot new tutor,” she teased and Theo frowned. “Yeah, he's miles better looking than the old git that was teaching you before,” said Blaise. 

Draco made a gagging noise that they all laughed at, and he sneered. “Eugh, don't talk about Nat like that, I've never even thought of him that way,” he said, and Pansy threw her head back and cackled. “Yeah, right. I don't call my tutor by a nickname,” “you don't even have a tutor,” Blaise said, and she rolled her eyes, “so what, my point still stands.”

“He's so much older than me, though,” Draco said, chucking the core of his apple behind him. “That implies you have thought of him that way,” Blaise pointed out but they ignored him. “Who cares if he's older, Draco,” Pansy rolled her eyes, “what matters is that he's handsome, and he makes you happy, yes?” 

Draco thought about it, for a moment, he was reminded of The Picture of Dorian Gray. “but still, I'm not sure if I even like him, and even if I did I doubt he'd reciprocate it,” and Pansy smacked her lips and leaned forward, “listen,” she pointed at him, “if you feel that way, then don't push it. Feelings aren't that complicated, Dray, you either like him or you don't.”

“That is horrible advice,” Blaise chuckled, Pansy hit him on the arm and he yelped.

Draco stared at the ceiling of his dim bedroom, thinking over the day and what was to come in their second year. All Draco could hear was Blaise snoring in his sleeping bag, the sound of his own rushing heartbeat, and Pansy murmuring in her sleep next to him. 

He stayed like that for a while, just listening to them, the way they breathed and how their chests expanded and collapsed while doing so. He never stopped staring at the ceiling even as he started to see colorful spots and static. 

He sat up, blinking away his dizziness, and being careful not to wake Pansy as he climbed over her and got up from the bed. He stepped over Blaise on the floor and made his way to the balcony connected to his room, where he saw Theo, leaning on the railing and watching the stars. 

“When did you get up?” He whispered, leaning on the door frame. Theo turned around in alarm, but relaxed when his eyes fell on Draco, “Hi,” Theo said in a small voice, and Draco walked over to him. 

“Just wanted to, uh, stargaze,” Theo chuckled, Draco hummed as he also leaned on the rails, he never used this balcony, and he forgot why, because this balcony overlooked most of the gardens, and the view was incredible. “Can't sleep?”

“No, something's keeping me awake,” he replied, and Theo nodded. He reached into his back pocket and held out something small and shiny that stood out against the crushing darkness of the night, “Galleon for your thoughts?” Theo asked and Draco fought a smile. How silly. 

“Do you keep Galleons on your person just for this occasion?” Draco said, laughing, but Theo just nudged the coin further into Draco's space. “Fine,” Draco sighed, taking the golden coin from Theo's palm and stuffing it into his pocket.

“I'm scared for tomorrow,” Draco admitted, and Theo's brows furrowed, “but we're starting second year tomorrow—” “and that's exactly why I'm scared,” that shut Theo up quickly. 

“It's just… I'll be playing Quidditch for our team this year, practice will be even more brutal, so that and my schoolwork— I'll be so busy,” He sighed, struggling to form the right words, ones that don't make him sound like an ungrateful, weak prick. Because that's what he was. 

“I already struggled so hard in first year, Theo, I can't multitask for the life of me and— I just hate myself right now, I'm so ungrateful for the opportunities I've been given, not to mention my own mother isn't even talking to me because I can't help but whine, and complain, and whine some more—” Theo put his hand on his shoulder and it was like he was being held down, not the drowning kind that he's been feeling these past few months, but something different, it felt nice, safe. 

“Slow down, Draco. Breathe, you're allowed to do that,” His voice felt like an anchor, weighing him down and keeping him from drifting away. 

Draco took a deep breath, “I was so busy juggling all of these responsibilities I put on myself, that I forgot about you.” His voice came out strained and he could see Theo trying to mask the hurt in his eyes, and Draco could barely take it. 

“I got so caught up with everything that I didn't even realize I hadn’t seen you for— literal weeks. Blaise and Harry I remembered because they were my roommates, and Pansy always went to breakfast early like me so— Merlin, I sound horrible right now.” He chuckled, but it came out wet and sad. “I learned that if people didn't force themselves into my schedule, I just… forgot about them. I hate that. I don't want to forget you, Theo.” He sniffled and soon realized he was crying. He quickly wiped the tears off his face and turned away, much to Theo's protests. 

“You're a wonderful, amazing person. I even dared to consider you my best friend, but I forgot about you, just like that. I'm disgusting.” He huffed, “I'm disgusting, and I get jealous, I'm a coward, I'm—” a hand forcefully turned him back around, trapping him on both sides, and Theo's face was in front of his. He looked angry and hurt all at once. 

“Don't say those things about yourself. Merlin—Draco, you're twelve. We both are. We're bound to get caught up in things that inspire us, that provoke us. We're fated to chase it with all our hearts because we're kids. I'm not going to stop being friends with you just because you won't think about me for a few days.” Theo smiled and Draco felt like his world was right-side up again. 

“Okay,” was all Draco managed to say, his breath hitching, he probably looked really ugly right now with the tear streaks down his cheeks.

“Okay,” Theo finished, giving him a big, warm hug. For once, Draco didn't feel like he was drowning. 

September 1st, 1992, was the day Draco and his friends arrived at platform 9 ¾ to start their second year of Hogwarts. The four of them decided to go together to avoid the hassle, and they picked up Greg and Vince at Diagon Alley on the way. Draco's mother had decided to accompany them with the excuse of having business at Diagon, but Draco knew that wasn't true, and his heart warmed at the hope that his mother wasn't cross with him anymore. 

Nat had also joined them, on strict orders from Draco's father, and he wondered if his father was even allowed to order around another family's son like that, especially into doing a job he isn't supposed to. Nat had reassured him that it was fine when he voiced this concern. 

When Draco locked eyes with Hermione across the platform, she visibly brightened, ditched the people she was previously talking to, and ran straight toward his group, enclosing both him and Pansy in a big hug. “I missed you both so much!” she exclaimed, Draco exchanged a look with Pansy before they laughed and hugged Hermione back. 

The out of character excitement didn't seem to stop at Hermione though, because not soon after she joined them, Weasley walked over and casually shook hands with Blaise and Theo. 

When Draco's surprise over Weasley faded, dread followed suit. Because wherever Weasley went— He looked up to see Harry also making his way over to them. He gave both Vince and Greg a hug, dapped up Blaise and Theo (since when did they do that? Draco had no clue), and kissed Pansy on the crown of her head. He didn't do anything for Draco though, other than give him a nod, which was no surprise but it still hurt. 

They couldn't talk for long, because the train hissed and they had yet to find a compartment. Draco ushered his friends to go ahead, and when they left he turned to his mother and Nat, who were both smiling at him fondly. 

Nat ruffled his hair with his hand, which Draco slapped away (he spent too much time on his new hairstyle for it to be ruined, okay?) Nat didn't seem too fazed by this, only chuckling, “Ah, I'm going to miss you, squirt. You're like a baby brother to me,” he said and it made Draco suddenly feel sad. Nat probably didn't feel welcome in his own home. he pulled Nat into a hug. He smelled like pine and parchment. 

When he released him, it was now Narcissa's turn to say her goodbyes. Draco felt a bit nervous, he hadn't talked to her personally since the beginning of summer. She gave Draco a small smile and bent down to kiss his forehead, “I'm sorry I didn't spend more time with you, my love. How foolish I was,” she said in her airy voice that made her sound like an angel. “Now you're going away again, truly foolish,” she sighed and he wanted to hug her tight once more, but he had to go. 

He waved them both goodbye and boarded the train just before it took off. He suddenly felt very alone. He shook his head and went to go find the compartment his friends were in. 

As he was looking, he bumped into something, and when he looked down he realized it was a girl. She seemed to be a first-year because of how short she was, only reaching about chin height to Draco. Her hair was a familiar flaming red and, as she looked up to meet his eyes, he noticed freckles scattered all over her cheeks and nose. 

“Ah, sorry, are you alright?” He asked, bending down slightly to see if she was hurt, the girl flushed and nodded violently. Just then, Weasley came out from a compartment behind her, “Wait, Gin—” he stopped and stared at the two for a moment, seeming to be trying to connect the dots. 

He straightened and nodded to Draco with what looked to be a serious expression, but it looked more constipated than anything. “Malfoy,” he said, and Draco nodded back, “Weasley.” The girl—Gin something—looked back to him, muttering a bye and swiftly walking past. 

“Your sister?” He asked as he walked over to Weasley, and he nodded. “Yeah, Ginny,” he said in a hostile tone and Draco rolled his eyes, walking past him and into the compartment where all his friends were, chattering and laughing. 

Most of them yelled a chorus of “Draco!” and “took you long enough!” when he came inside. As he scanned the room, the only seat left was the one next to Harry, and Draco didn't fancy himself sitting on the floor so he held his pride, crushed it, and sat down next to him. 

Draco thought it would be awkward, but the noise that a compartment filled with people brought distracted him from being too aware that Harry was next to him, and that Harry was staring at him. 

Even a blind wizard would be able to tell by how obvious Harry was being. He didn't just throw a couple glances—his eyes were practically glued to Draco the whole time! Draco fought hard not to do so much as glance at Harry, only ever watching him in his periphery as he chatted to Pansy and laughed with Greg. 

After a few hours had passed and the view that was rushing past the window was now dark and blue. Most of the compartment was snoozing and snoring (mostly Blaise was snoring) save for Weasley and Granger who were whispering to each other on the seat opposite. 

Harry abruptly stood up, grabbed Draco's wrist, and pulled him out of the compartment. Draco almost tripped on Vince, who was sleeping on the floor, as he tried to catch up. 

“Where are we going?” Draco asked desperately, trying to pry his arm out of Harry's grip, but Harry was determined and only squeezed tighter. Draco really needed to work on his strength.

Harry led him to an empty compartment, sliding the door open so hard it made a cracking sound and Draco flinched. Upon entering, he closed the door behind both of them and he sat on one side, gesturing for Draco to sit on the other. Draco, having no idea what was happening and was kind of getting scared, obeyed. 

“You've been avoiding me,” Harry started and Draco desperately tried to look at anything other than those green eyes. “I have no idea what you mean,” he replied. 

“Draco.” 

Harry said it like a warning, and Draco immediately felt the urge to shrink into his seat—like Longbottom getting scolded by Professor Snape. 

“If anything, I'd say you're the one who's avoiding me,” Draco said, feigning ignorance. 

That only seemed to anger Harry even more, “Draco, the last time we talked was at the lake, the last thing I spoke to you was about face-planting on ice—and you laughed. That's hardly a fight, is it? You’re the one who stopped talking to me, not the other way around. By the way, that was nine months ago. We haven't said more than two words to each other since, what is going on with you?”

Remind Draco never to get on Harry's bad side ever again. He could handle Harry when he's yelling—but when he got all calm and logical? Call the aurors.

“Look, I can see that you're upset—” 

“Oh, you can, can you?” 

“Let me speak—”

“Yes, I think you owe me an explanation.”

“For Merlin's sake, Harry, let me say something!” Draco yelled and the compartment went quiet. Harry let out a sigh and nodded. 

“Look, I don't know what got into me that time, I think it was a mixture of stress and uhm,” Draco paused, he really didn't want to admit something this embarrassing. “Uhm?” Harry raised an eyebrow and Draco coughed. 

“And jealousy,” he muttered. “The—combination of those two things had been stirring inside me for a while. I kept pushing it back down but when Weasley talked to me at the lake, it just came up all at once and I, uh—”

“Acted like a complete arsehole,” Harry finished and Draco nodded “yeah, that.”

“How long have you been feeling this way?” Harry asked and Draco thought for a while. “It was the time of our first flying class, you were riding your broom and—” “Wait—” Harry held up a hand and Draco paused. “I thought you were telling me you're jealous of Ron.” 

If Draco had a Sickle for every time someone accused him of being jealous of Ronald Weasley, he'd have two Sickles. Which is two too many. 

“Why would I be jealous of Weasley?” Draco asked. He truly believed he wasn't—but now two people had said the same thing, and usually that wasn't a good sign. 

He tried to recall all the times he felt jealousy before, comparing them to the times he'd seen Weasley. 

He'd bumped into Weasley in the corridor earlier, but that had been nothing like the time Harry rode a broom—so, not that. 

When Weasley was talking to him by the lake, Draco had gotten angry, but it wasn't the same as when Hermione outshone him in Charms. Not quite right either. 

He needed to change perspective. This wasn't working. Draco forced himself to think of moments where seeing Weasley had felt worse than his usual bouts of jealousy.

There was that time Weasley had been following Harry around in the corridor, and Draco had completely blown up on Harry for it. 

Then when Harry and Weasley were partnered in Potions, whispering to each other like they were best friends. 

When Hermione mentioned that Harry spent his holidays with Weasley. 

And, of course, when Draco landed a perfect triple axel at the lake (or whatever Pansy claimed he landed), only to find Harry had been talking to Weasley instead of him. 

Ah. 

“Draco!” Harry's voice snapped him out of his thoughts—he was suddenly sitting right next to him. “Oh,” Draco said, a little breathless. 

“I think I have been jealous of Weasley,” Draco admitted, and the look on Harry's face said something Draco couldn't quite name. 

“Why?” Harry asked. “Well, you've always been happier with him than with us—with me. So I was upset, and I think I thought you were better off without me. That's why I avoided you.” 

“But I'm not better off without you,” Harry's brows furrowed. 

“It didn't look like it,” Draco said, turning away. 

“Draco, I've been miserable these nine months without you, how is that being better off?” Harry turned Draco's head back to him, and Draco looked into those devastating green eyes again. 

“You have?” “Yes,” Harry said, and Draco felt like he could cry. He hugged Harry tightly, Harry's hair tickling his nose as he hugged him back. “Are we okay, now?” Harry's muffled voice asked and Draco hummed, “More than.” Harry relaxed into the hug. 

Suddenly, the train came to a screeching stop, they had arrived. Harry and Draco forced themselves to separate, and Draco stood up and slid the compartment door open, the corridor was filled with students rushing out and he grimaced at the thought of squeezing past them. He turned and Harry was still sitting, his eyes dazed as he looked up at Draco. 

“Something wrong?” he asked him, leaning on the door frame and Harry shook his head, “It's nothing, I just noticed how tall you got. We were still the same height a few months ago, so I'm just a bit surprised…” 

Draco smiled, tilting his head to rest against the frame, “you've got some catching up to do, Potter,” Harry's cheeks went red and he laughed. 

When the corridor was clear, they both went and got off the train, over to their friends who were huddled in a tight circle. Pansy spotted them first, her eyes widening in recognition as she yelled, “where have you been?!”

Blaise groaned beside her, “finally!” he exclaimed, and the rest of the group turned to look at them. Draco shrugged and Harry blushed as he scratched his nape, “just talking,” he said and Pansy grabbed him and pulled him away from the platform and onto a rough mud track. 

“Couldn't you wait to talk until after we're in the warm premises of the castle? We've been out here for ages!” Pansy complained as their group caught up with the rest of the students who were boarding what looked to be hundreds of stagecoaches seemingly pulled by nothing. 

They climbed inside and shut the door, the coach set off all by itself, bumping and swaying in procession. The coach smelled faintly of mold, straw, and the different perfumes and cologne they all wore mixed together, creating an awful aroma. 

They had decided to make a game out of it, seeing as they had a medium-length ride ahead of them and they were all squeezed into a tiny carriage, shoulder-to-shoulder. Theo suggested that if anyone could pair the correct fragrance to the right person just by sniffing the air, they'd win fifteen Galleons all from his back pocket. 

Vince excitedly went first, sniffing the air like a mad man that made everyone laugh. He didn't get any of his guesses right. Pansy was next and she managed to get Blaise and Draco's right, Blaise had a honey scent and Draco used milk-scented body soap today. 

Theo quickly contradicted her, though—saying Draco smelt more like vanilla, Draco rolled his eyes fondly. Of course Theo would know the scent of his perfume.

Weasley was horrible at the game, even more so than Vince was. He guessed broom polish for Harry and couldn't even name Pansy's, just saying something about a flowery scent. “Excuse you, just because I'm named after a flower doesn't mean I actually smell like one,” Pansy complained and Blaise snickered beside her. 

Hermione skipped her turn so Greg had the floor, “Uhm, lavender for Theo, Vince wears caramel,” he paused for a moment to inhale the air, “butter for Weasley, paper for Granger, and uh, Harry just smells like straight soap. Maybe a little grass.” 

The entire carriage went silent, when Theo asked the others if he was right, they all nodded. Greg had guessed everyone correctly. 

“Wow,” Theo muttered as he reached into his pocket and took out a small bag of jingling coins. Greg smiled and took it, counted the money inside, then frowned. “But this is only twelve,” he said and Theo shrugged, “you didn't guess Pansy's,” “rip off,” Greg muttered, and the carriage roared with laughter. 

When they arrived at Hogwarts, they were ushered by the Prefects to their table at the Great Hall. “I'm starving, why isn't there any food?” Theo whispered to Draco, “because the first-years haven't been sorted yet, you twit,” he said as he hit Theo on the arm and the other boy yelped. 

“Ouch, Dray,” Theo whined. Just then, the first years walked into the Hall, looking up at the ceiling in awe. Draco felt a pang of nostalgia in his chest. That used to be him. 

After the Hat sang its nasty song, Professor McGonagall proceeded with the sorting, shouting names of the students whose faces held various levels of nervousness. “Weasley, Ginevra!” Professor McGonagall called and Draco saw Weasley's sister—Ginny, or Ginevra he supposed—walk nervously to the stool and sat down. 

The hat grumbled something about another Weasley then shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” and Draco rolled his eyes, of course she would be. 

When the sorting finally concluded, the Slytherin table had gained three new Slytherins—one of them being Astoria Greengrass, Daphne and Nat's little sister. 

As Draco was eating and laughing with his friends, he was suddenly swarmed by the Weasley twins, “Hey, mate, sorry do you mind scooting over? Cheers,” Fred—or George, Draco was horrible with twins—said to Theo as they both squeezed between the students on either side of him. 

“Hullo, Blondie. I'm Fred, he's George” the left one—Fred—spoke first, and pointed to the twin on Draco's right, both flashed him a bright smile. 

“So very, very wonderful to finally meet you,” they said at the same time, shaking both of Draco's hands, and he wondered what type of God he had angered today for him to receive this punishment. 

“Uhm, okay,” he said in a weary tone, “Do I… know you?” 

“Not yet! But that's precisely why we're here,” Fred said brightly. 

“You see, we've heard quite a bit about you, Blondie,” said George. 

Draco's eyebrows furrowed, “from who?” and they both shrugged, “sources,” said George, “reliable ones!” Fred backed up and they both laughed in creepy unison. 

“But we can't go about disclosing names! That's classified information, ” Fred said, “highly classified,” George echoed, “we'd have to obliviate you.”

“And we wouldn't want to do that now, would we?” said Fred as George nodded. “Are you threatening me?” Draco asked, the Slytherin table was rightfully gawking at the unwelcome guests. 

“Oh, no, we'd like to put it as… observing you,” George said, as if that were any better. 

“Purely out of academic interest,” Fred added. “Yes, we're men of science, we are,” George again, Draco was getting dizzy trying to keep up. What in Merlin's name was science? 

“You two are absolutely mental,” he muttered and the two looked over his head and started talking to each other. “He's catching on, Freddie,” said George. “Sharp one, this.” Fred added

“Could be trouble,” one twin said, Draco stopped trying to identify them, “Definitely trouble,” said the other twin. They both shook his hands again, “Well, it was nice meeting you, Blondie!” They said in unison, got up, and left. 

“What was that about?” Theo whispered to him, scooting back next to him and Draco shrugged. He felt like ten years were shaved off his lifespan.

Draco got through the rest of dinner without any more interruptions, and he was now walking with Harry and Pansy to the Slytherin Commons. As they approached the blank stone wall, Hermione and Weasley were standing in front of it, next to Weasley was his sister, Draco really had to figure out what to call her, seeing as her and Weasley share the same last name. 

“Hey, guys,” Harry called, his face breaking into a wide grin that made Draco's stomach flip badly. “Harry!” Hermione brightened as he walked over to them. 

“What's going on?” Draco asked, placing his elbow on Harry's shoulder. “Oh, it's nothing, Ron's rat escaped and ran here, so we're looking for it,” Hermione replied, and Draco noticed the distressed look on Weasley's face. 

“Scabbers is gone! He's missing!” Weasley whined, and Draco rolled his eyes, “Yeah, well, if I were that rat I would've run too,” he muttered and Harry elbowed him in the ribs. Ginny giggled at Weasley's (Ronald’s?) side. 

“We'll help you look for him, Ron,” Harry offered.

Pansy groaned. “Oh, please, it's just a rat. It’s already getting late—we'll be caught out of bed by Filch.”

“I don't know, Pans,” Draco teased, smirking. “If Viper went missing, I think you'd go ballistic,” Pansy smacked his arm. “Don't even say that, Dray! What if she does go missing? it'll be all your fault—!” Her voice broke into a nervous whine.

“Viper?” Harry echoed, raising a brow. Draco's grin widened. “Pansy's wittle bunny wabbit,” he said in a mock baby voice, breaking out into a cackle. 

“I never would've thought you owned a bunny, Pansy,” said Hermione. “Yes, but I'm not the only one with unusual pets,” she muttered, throwing a side glance at Draco. 

“Really?” Harry asked in what sounded like disbelief. “Ask him how many,” she whispered and Harry turned to Draco with wide eyes. 

“A reasonable amount,” was all Draco said, but Pansy wouldn't let up. She crossed her arms, “I don't think a flock of peacocks are considered reasonable, Dray.” The whole group went silent. 

“Peacocks?!” Ronald yelled and Draco grimaced. His Slytherin friends bullied him so incredibly hard when they had found out about the albino peacocks that were kept around the gardens of Malfoy Manor. This wasn't good. 

“For your information, they're not mine. They're owned by my family, I just… happen to take care of them every now and then,” he muttered as a pink hue flushed on his cheeks. 

“Yeah, but one's set to be part of your inheritance, right?” Pansy asked and Draco reluctantly nodded, “Well, yes. I'll be owning Prince,” “that drama king? Fitting.” He wondered what she meant by that. 

“Wait, you seriously own peacocks?” Ronald asked and Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Ronald. Keep up, will you?” Ginny giggled softly. 

Just then, they all heard tiny little squeaks and Ronald’s eyes widened. “Scabbers!” He yelled, grabbing something from the floor. It was the rat. 

“Well, now that the rat's here, I need to go to catch up on some beauty sleep, and you all should try it, too. Looks like you need it,” Pansy said, coughing up the last part as she said the password to their dorm and went in. 

They all looked at each other and laughed. "She's probably right,” Harry said, a lazy smile on his face, “see you tomorrow, guys,” he clapped Ronald on the shoulder. 

“Goodnight, Hermione,” Draco said. 

“Goodnight, Draco,” she nodded softly. 

Harry paused to look at him for a moment, before shaking his head and saying the password. Draco looked over his shoulder to wave goodbye, and his eyes met Ginny's.

The wall closed back up before he could recognize the look in her eye.

Chapter Text

Draco was nervous. Actually, nervous is an understatement. He was scared out of his mind. 

His first Quidditch match of the season was just scheduled for next week, and he felt completely unprepared. He's been training constantly, sure. He practices with Harry three evenings a week, and flies around by himself every other evening when he isn't studying, but that doesn't mean he's ready. 

Because being ready meant having to play on the pitch, screamed at by practically the entire school. He wanted this attention, he still does—but wanting and being prepared for it are two different things and he'd realized that too late. He'll have to just go out there and deal with it. 

Harry was handling this news a lot better than Draco was. He had said he was nervous, but it definitely didn’t show. Draco envied that about him—the way Harry went headfirst into things despite being scared or unsure. Harry would’ve made a great Gryffindor.

Speaking of Gryffindors, two of the most annoying ones Draco had ever met kept following him around like moths to a flame.

Fred and George Weasley had been a thorn in his side ever since that dreadful conversation at the Welcoming Feast, and they hadn’t been any more pleasant since. Always asking the stupidest questions like what his favorite color was or if he preferred cats over dogs. Draco had enough of it. 

“Oh, Blondie!” someone called in a sing-song voice from behind him, “lupus in fābulā,” Draco muttered under his breath, walking faster. 

He turned the corner—George Weasley's face came into view, and Draco almost collided into him by how fast he was going. “Woah! Easy there—pretty boy,” George snickered and Draco groaned. 

An arm wrapped around his shoulders, and Draco caught the buttery scent of Fred Weasley behind him, “Runnin’ away, are we?” George drawled from in front of him. “Anything to get away from you,” Draco snarled. 

“Quite a mouth on this one, Georgie!” Fred said, tousling Draco’s hair before he could snap back. The touch left his scalp tingling, and he had to fight the urge to fix his hair immediately.

Draco had learned to tell them apart over time. After their constant tormenting, it was hard not to notice the subtle differences. Fred was the instigator—always throwing the first jab, the first tease—while George waited for a reaction before joining in. 

There was something else, too. George always talked to him, like he expected Draco to listen, to respond. Fred mostly talked at him, loud and careless. He’d gone barmy trying to explain that difference to his friends, who already thought he was mad for paying that much attention to the Weasley twins. 

“Alright, question of the day, Blondie,” Fred said smugly, cracking his knuckles with one hand. “More like questions, there's multiple this time,” George cleared his throat and took out a piece of paper from his pocket. 

this time? Draco assumed they'd been doing this as a way to bully him, but with the way it sounded, it seemed like even they didn't know what the questions were, and they were getting them from someone else. Huh. 

“Question one,” George read aloud, "What type of sweets do you like?” he looked up to Draco and grinned. 

He raised his eyebrow, “really?” he drawled, but George just shrugged. “C'mon, we don't have all day!” Fred exclaimed. 

“Cake,” he supplied, sighing. “Gi—George needs specifics. Don't be shy,” Fred nudged him and Draco narrowed his eyes. “Fondant au Chocolat.”

The twins both tilted their heads. “Fondant.. what?” asked Fred and Draco rolled his eyes. “Chocolate Fondant cake, you Muppets.”

They both shared an “ohhhhh!” before laughing. Draco felt his cheeks warm up. 

“Well why didn't you just say so? Honestly,” George said as he wiped a tear from his eye and cleared his throat. 

“Question two,” He read, “if you could go anywhere in the world, would it be somewhere quiet and secluded where no one could ever find you, or somewhere loud and full of life, where you could—” He squinted at the paper. “—‘shed the expectations of your lineage and just… be yourself.’”

Draco stared at him, his mouth slightly parted. “What?” Fred choked on his own laughter. “Keep going, Georgie!”

George, valiantly keeping a straight face, finished reading: “Final question—what’s your middle name?”

Draco blinked, “Who— What is happening, right now?” Fred lightly bumped his shoulder, “Answer the question. You've already skipped one, don't be lazy!” he snickered. 

“... Lucius,” He muttered, and the twins nodded. “Right, that's all,” George said, folding the paper back into his pocket. Fred let him go and walked over to George. “‘Til we meet again, Blondie!” Fred exclaimed over his shoulder as he and George left. 

Draco sighed, he felt like a tornado just passed through him. 

Draco woke up on the dawn of November 2nd and was immediately filled with dread. His first Quidditch match was today. 

The sun hadn't yet risen over the horizon, leaving the world to be dim and blue. Draco felt like he could relate to that. When he looked over to his roommates, he noticed Harry's bed was empty and already made. Where could he have gone? 

Draco threw his blankets off of himself, not taking the time to fix his bed or shower, it was a weekend, anyway. He'll do that later. He dressed himself in a white dress shirt, some proper pants, and got into a warm coat and made his way out of the dungeons. 

He walked through the barren halls of the castle for a while, it was too early for any student to be awake, so Draco didn't feel as conscious of his appearance as he usually was. When there was no sign of Harry, he stepped outside—and immediately shivered at the cold air that hit him—there was only one place Harry could be at right now. 

As he approached the Quidditch pitch, he could see a distant figure zipping through the air and he fought a smile. The figure seemed to spot him, and was flying its way over to him.

“I know Flint told us to get to the pitch early, but I don't think he meant this early,” he yelled, his smile seemed to have won, as it spread big and wide across his face. 

Harry dismounted his broom, laughing. His hair was even wilder than usual from the wind and his cheeks flushed by how cold it was.

“I just thought I could squeeze in a bit of practice, you know?” He shrugged, putting away his Nimbus Two Thousand-One that Draco’ father had gotten him, a matching one to Draco's that he was also given, saying it was a gift for getting on the team. Harry cried as he hugged Draco that day.

“You nervous?” Draco asked, holding his hands behind his back as he walked closer to Harry.

Harry shrugged again, “A bit,” he flashed Draco that little lopsided smile that he always loved on Harry.

“Well, I'm not nervous at all,” he exclaimed and Harry laughed. A sickening tune, really. 

“Because Draco Malfoy never gets nervous,” Harry said and Draco nodded, “right you are, my good sir,” Harry giggled, and Draco's heart sang. He loved making this boy laugh. 

They stood in front of each other, just looking at each other's eyes and enjoying the moment. The cold winds of winter were suddenly just a cool breeze on Draco's skin as he looked into those dashing green eyes.

“What?” Draco asked, a smile clear in his voice. Harry was staring right at him, like the world would end if he looked away. 

“Nothing,” Harry said shyly, a small pink tint on his cheeks. Draco cleared his throat, “So, want to get breakfast?” Harry tilted his head slightly. “But breakfast won't be served in the Great Hall for another two hours.”

Draco laughed, “We won't be eating there, silly,” he rolled his eyes when Harry looked even more confused. “Just follow me.” 

“Shh!” Draco put a finger up to his mouth as they ran through the corridors of the castle, their giggles echoing throughout the place and waking the portraits. 

They both stopped in front of a painting of a large fruit bowl, “here we are,” Draco announced and Harry looked at him like he'd gone barmy.

“Unless you find a way to eat those fruits, I don't think I'll agree to this as my breakfast,” He said and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Be patient, you,” Draco said as he reached up and tickled the large pear on the painting. He earned a side glance from a very weirded-out Harry, until the portrait swung open—almost hitting Draco in the face—to reveal a room bustling with house-elves working and cooking. Harry's jaw dropped. 

“Still think I'm barmy?” Draco looked at Harry and snickered. He stepped into the portrait hole, signalling for Harry to follow. When they both went inside, the portrait slammed shut behind them and a few elves looked up from their work, most of them gasping in surprise. 

An elf was suddenly in front of them, its face dripping with concern. “M-might we help you, masters?” it said in a trembling voice that made Draco's heart hurt. 

“Hello, my name is Draco, and this is Harry. We woke up rather early and we're devastatingly hungry. Do you mind if we could perhaps grab a quick snack?” He said in a gentle tone, hoping to not scare off the elf. 

An older elf seemed to perk up at this information, and walked toward them with a bright smile, “Oh, we elves do not mind at all, masters, please—stay for breakfast. Dabble will not feel at ease if you do not eat properly,” the elf—Dabble—said, ushering them to a small table in the corner and making them sit down. 

“Thank you, Dabble,” Draco said and she shook her head quickly, “please do not thank me, master Draco,” she assured as she Disapparated with a loud crack. 

“Devastatingly hungry?” Harry asked, struggling to hold in a laugh. Draco rolled his eyes. “I was worried they'd say no, so I exaggerated a bit. That's all.”

“How'd you find this place, anyway? And what even are they?” Harry questioned. “They're house-elves. Have you not seen any before?” and Harry shook his head, “They're the ones that make your meals every day, you know.” Draco leaned back in his chair. 

“Mum used to tell me stories about this place. How a Hufflepuff boy who fancied her at the time showed it to her, and how she'd occasionally come here if she missed breakfast,” Draco said and Harry's eyebrows raised. “I didn't take your mum as someone who would miss breakfast, she seemed prim and proper at the station.” 

“Right? I was surprised at first too,” Draco replied but was interrupted by Dabble who placed two plates filled with steaming scrambled eggs and delicious fried sausages with perfectly golden brown toast. Draco felt his stomach rumble by just looking at it. 

“Here you are, masters! Enjoy your meal,” Dabble said and Disapparated again before Draco could thank her. He hated when they did that. 

He gazed back at Harry, only to find him shoveling eggs into his mouth with vigor. “Mind your manners, will you?” He grumbled, as he began to eat. 

As they ate, they talked about all sorts of random things, their conversations never seemed to run dry despite being together almost every hour of the day. “I can assure you, my wand is much better than yours,” Draco said as he sliced through his eggs and shoved them in his mouth. 

“Nah, just because yours is polished and pretty doesn't mean it's cooler. And longer.” said Harry while stabbing a sausage with his fork. 

“Who cares if it's long or looks cool? Your wand looks like it came from a tree that gave up,” Draco retorted around a mouth full of toast. 

“What's this about manners now? I thought not talking when your mouth was full was rule one,” Harry said smugly and Draco rolled his eyes.

“I say bollocks to those damn manners, no one's watching anyway.” Harry snickered at that. 

When they were finished with their meals, they both thanked Dabble and the other elves for their kindness (much to the elves’ dismay), as they stepped through the portrait hole and back out into the corridor. The warm embrace of the kitchen's atmosphere immediately left their bodies, and they were once again met with the cold shiver of winter. 

The sun was just now peaking over the mountains of Scotland, bathing the castle in warm sunlight—gilding it in gold. For a moment, the castle looked almost too perfect—like a painting coming to life, every stone gleaming, every shadow softened. Draco wasn’t sure if he liked it better that way or when it was cloaked in gray and blue. 

“We should probably head back,” Draco muttered, turning away from the blinding view, placing his hands inside his pockets. Harry muttered an agreement as they both walked back to the dungeons. Appreciating the way their conversation bounced between each other as they strolled through the dusty halls of Hogwarts. 

Draco walked into the Great Hall with Harry by his side to meet with their friends for breakfast (they didn't have the heart to tell them they already ate), but his hope for a peaceful morning was already being shot down, seeing as the moment he made to approach the Slytherin table, Fred and George Weasley both grabbed him and Harry by the robes and walked them over to where the Gryffindors sat. 

George shoved him into a seat beside Ginny, and Fred pushed Harry into the seat across—next to Ronald. 

“Hi,” Draco heard Ginny mutter from his side, he gave her a small nod. 

“Ready for the game, fellas?” George snickered, massaging Draco's shoulders much too hard to be relaxing. Their match against Gryffindor would be starting at eleven o'clock, and it was just barely eight. They had plenty of time to kill, but Draco's nerves still failed to calm down. 

The Weasley twins were the Gryffindor team's Beaters, and with Draco being the Slytherin Chaser, he'd be facing their wrath in a few hours. He was not excited by that thought. 

“We'll beat you, surely,” Harry said, his mouth forming an eager grin. The twins laughed at that.

“You wish!” they exclaimed in unison, “our team might not be as interesting as yours, but it's still solid,” said George, ruffling Draco's hair, and he groaned. 

“We'll see about that," Draco muttered, and he heard Ginny huff a laugh. Hermione walked over then, sitting next to Draco and he felt at ease knowing he wouldn't be stuck putting up with these idiots for the entirety of breakfast. Though he'd much prefer Pansy. 

“Sorry I'm late,” Hermione panted, and took a toast that Fred buttered for her, muttering a thank you.

“Where were you?” Ronald asked, pausing his conversation with Harry to look at the pile of scrolls she spread across her side of the table. 

“Finishing the Potions essay, I hope you did it like I told you to. It's due today,” she sighed when Ronald's face turned ghostly pale. Draco tried to hold a chuckle, but he broke into a complete cackle when he saw Harry's face doing the same. 

“We had an essay?” He said skittish, and Draco nodded in amusement. “You never told me!” Harry said to him and Draco rolled his eyes, “you're not a child, you don't need reminding.”

“Well, that's reminding. I needed a telling,” he argued and Draco fought a smirk, “you saw me working on it last night,” he shrugged. 

“I thought it was something else!”

“You thought wrong, then.”

“You're insufferable,” Harry whined, scrambling for a piece of parchment that Hermione transfigured for him and Ronald. 

“Why are you two here, by the way?” Hermione asked, and Draco sighed. “I should be asking that, honestly.”

After another breakfast that Draco definitely shouldn't have ate, they changed into their emerald Quidditch robes in the locker room, and Draco got hit by another uncomfortable wave of nerves. This was actually happening. 

Flint cleared his throat as they were finishing up, and the team huddled up around him. “Alright, ladies and gents,” he started, and their Keeper, Miles Bletchley, laughed. “You wish there were ladies,” he said.

“Oh, shut up, Miles. You’re more of a bitch than a lady could ever be,” said Adrian Pucey, their other Chaser. Draco startled a laugh.

Flint hit Pucey hard in the chest, giving him a glare, “hold your tongue, Adrian, there’s kids in here for Salazar’s sake,” Pucey shrunk in on himself a bit.

“Alright,” Flint continued, “this is the first game of the year. You better get your act together after the shame we went through last time. Don’t taint these kids ‘ere with your uselessness,” he addressed the older players, placing both his hands on Draco and Harry’s shoulders. “They’re prodigies. Much better than you lot, make ‘em shine.”

The team cheered and Draco felt his chest swell up with a feeling akin to pride. He could tell Harry was feeling the same. 

Flint then turned toward them, his voice low so only they could hear, “You two have fun, alright? It’s only your first game, we ain’t going to blame you if you mess up. You’re only in your second year, you hear?” 

They both nodded at their captain, and he flashed them a smile. “Make me proud,” he whispered one last time before turning back to the others. “Right. It’s time. Good luck, all of you.”

They all cheered once more, “We’ll crush those Gryffindors!” Draco heard Bletchley exclaim. He followed the team out of the locker room, and walked out into the stadium. 

The cheers were deafening as they stepped out onto the pitch. The field stretched wide and impossibly green beneath their feet. Despite the muddy weather and hints of thunder, golden light still poured over the stadium’s towering stands, catching on the gleaming goalposts—three on each end—so they looked like slender rings of fire suspended in the sky.

The wind was howling even more than the crowd was—restlessly whipping their robes and hair in wild directions. Draco’s especially, his blonde, almost platinum, strands of hair flicking across his eyes so much he had to push it back every few seconds.

Madam Hooch called them over, “Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, emphasising her words more when she looked at Flint. Flint shrugged his shoulders, making some of them laugh. 

Flint shook hands with the Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood. They gave each other threatening stares and gripped rather harder than necessary. 

The rest of the team didn’t share the same attitude, though. Pucey was making eyes at the Gryffindor Chaser, Angelina Johnson. Johnson was blushing and averting her eyes, and Draco recalled hearing a dating rumor about them from Pansy. 

The twins were winking at Draco and Harry from behind Wood, he heard Harry let out a soft chuckle and the tension in Draco’s shoulders eased a bit.

“Mount your brooms! On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch. “Thee…two…one…” 

The whistle rang in their ears as all fourteen players soared upward. The crowd roared—some booing Slytherin—as the game started. 

Draco could hear the faint commentary of Lee Jordan, a friend of the Weasley twins, and fellow Gryffindor. This was going to be a bad game for his House. 

Johnson grabbed hold of the Quaffle immediately, earning a wolf whistle from Pucey and Flint yelled at him for it. Jordan said something then about Johnson being attractive and that seemed to fuel Pucey into rage as he dived to chase the girl. 

Johnson passed the ball over to another Gryffindor Chaser, fighting to get Pucey off her tail. Draco watched closely as the Chaser tossed it back to Johnson—a mistake—as Flint swooped in and grabbed hold of it mid-throw. 

“Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle up there—he’s going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Oliver Wood.” said Jordan over the speakers. Flint flew back and hissed at Wood, but the Keeper just gave him a smug smirk as he passed the Quaffle to a Gryffindor Chaser.

Draco dived to catch up to her, slowly getting closer and closer to her broom until—BANG—a Bludger hit her in the back of the head, and she went down, the Quaffle flying from her hands and into Draco’s. 

Draco had no time to see who sent the Bludger, as he was immediately pursued by Johnson. He sped off toward the goalposts but was blocked by another Bludger that he was barely able to dodge. Draco could hear an apology being yelled by Fred as Johnson swooped in and grabbed the Quaffle. 

“Nice play by one of the Gryffindor Beaters, anyway, Johnson back in the possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes—she’s really flying—dodges a speeding Bludger—the goalposts are ahead—come on, now, Angelina—Keeper Bletchley dives—misses—GRYFFINDOR SCORES!” Jordan yelled loudly, Draco really had a bone to pick with that guy. 

The Gryffindors’ cheers and exclaims filled the cold air, and Draco could sense the disappointment radiating not only from his team, but also from the Slytherin students watching.

“Keep your head on your shoulders!” yelled Flint, mostly to Bletchley, who seemed down. “It’s only ten points, c’mon, now!” Bletchley nodded, his face more determined.

Pucey had the Quaffle now, dodging and weaving whatever Bludger or player that got in his way. He sped through toward the goalposts—“wait a moment, was that the Snitch?” Jordan commented over the speakers. 

The whole stadium spoke in hushed tones as Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that passed his ear. 

Draco snapped back into the game faster than the others, diving to snatch the Quaffle before it fell too far, speeding to finish what Pucey started. The Snitch was Harry's problem, and Harry's only. 

Draco could see from the corner of his eye Harry and the Gryffindor Seeker chasing after the Snitch, all the other players seemed to be too stunned to continue playing—just watching the show, which made it all too easy for Draco to throw the Quaffle past Wood, and score for his team. 

“Uhh—Slytherin scores!” Jordan said, more confused than anything, “unfair—I mean, wonderful play by Slytherin's new Chaser Draco Malfoy, the score is now ten-to-ten.”

The announcement seemed to have caught everyone's attention, and Draco received deafening cheers from the Slytherins. He could've sworn he heard Pansy's shrill voice chanting his name. 

“Nice one, Draco,” he heard someone say beside him, he turned to see Harry smiling at him. “I thought you were chasing the snitch?” he asked and Harry shook his head, he was still panting. “Lost it,” replied Harry, “got too distracted.”

From what? Draco wanted to ask but he was pulled back into the game before he could, and Harry rose up higher to continue searching. 

The game surged on, Jordan narrating every movement—managing, of course, to slip in a few well-placed jabs at the Slytherins. For a while, Slytherin was on fire; Draco’s earlier play seemed to ignite something in them, and the score had climbed to twenty–sixty in their favor. Rain began to fall about halfway through, a light drizzle, but not enough to stop the match as they pressed on.

Just then, Harry suddenly dived at an alarming speed, and the Gryffindor Seeker made to follow him. Flint was halfway to the goalposts until he stopped to stare at Harry who was getting increasingly close to the ground. 

“What’s he doing?” Draco heard Johnson yell, every player seemed to stop and stare once again, watching the Seekers closely. The rain was heavier now, the crowd struggled to see what Harry was doing because of the heavy droplets. 

Draco squinted for a moment until he let out a gasp. Harry was after the Snitch. 

Harry didn't stop, and only until he was about three meters from the ground did he do something. He clapped his hand over his mouth as though he was about to be sick, and tried to stop his course but he slipped from how wet his broom was and ended up crashing into the muddy dirt. 

He coughed, and out fell a golden ball from his mouth and into his hand. “I've got the Snitch!” he exclaimed, waving it above his head. 

The stadium seemed to come alive, everyone stood and applauded, leaving the Gryffindors confused and disappointed. “He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it!” Flint howled in delight, the largest grin that Draco had ever seen was plastered on his face. 

They lowered themselves back onto the ground and immediately bounded toward Harry. Flint and Pucey scooped him up and propped the boy onto their shoulders. They had won. The Slytherin team had won by two hundred and ten points to twenty. 

When the two older boys let Harry down after a much too long celebration, Draco immediately wrapped his arms around Harry and crushed him into a big hug. “We won! You won! Harry, you did it!” he exclaimed. 

Harry laughed in his ear, reciprocating the hug and wrapping his arms around Draco's waist, “wouldn't have done it if it weren't for you guys,” he said, and their older teammates laughed and ruffled his hair. 

A low vibration buzzed underneath his skin as Draco and his team trudged back to the castle. The path was slick with November rain and the warm, clean jumper he put on after his shower rubbed against his skin. Victory still clung to them—in the form of wide smiles and bright faces. 

His hair was still damp from his shower, and the cool breeze that passed by made his cheeks flush a warm shade of pink. He liked this. Well—not the inconvenient trek uphill, he hated that part. But he loved the gentle atmosphere that surrounded them, like only their group mattered right now. 

After the game, they started to warm up to each other. Draco still probably wouldn't call them his friends, but it was getting close to that. He liked his teammates. 

He enjoyed Adrian's dry sense of humor, like he wasn't out right trying to be funny, he just was. He liked how Miles never knew when to shut up, but not in that annoying trying-to-get-your-attention way, but just in the way he's always transparent and saying exactly what he's thinking. 

He especially liked Marcus. He might've been brutal to others, and definitely wasn't a good person, but he was kind to the people who mattered. Draco might be his parents’ only son, but he almost saw Marcus as an older brother. 

He enjoyed the banter that fell between the five of them, occasionally listening in as they walked behind the older boys—Marcus always looked back every few minutes, like a shepherd checking in on his youngest sheep. 

Well, Draco was enjoying it, until Miles started slowing his pace and drifting next to him like a man up to something malicious. 

“So, first years—” 

“Second,” Draco corrected, and Miles only snickered. “Right, right,” he said. 

Adrian started slowing down too, and Draco had a passing (and completely accurate) thought that this was an organized attack. 

“Important question,” Adrian announced.

Draco could hear Harry whinge under his breath, and honestly—he felt the same dread, with how close the two older boys were to dangerous territory. 

“Either of you got your eye on anyone? You're about that age, aren't you?” Miles bumped his shoulder into Draco's—a lot harder than necessary. 

Harry shrunk in on himself more at the question, and Draco felt his annoyance prickle on his cheeks. “I'm twelve, not deranged,” he scoffed. 

“That's a yes,” Adrian said smugly. “It's not,” Draco supplied firmly, and the older boys all laughed. 

Miles then turned to victim number two, “How about you, Harry? Been awfully quiet,” he teased and Draco could see the slight reddening of Harry's ears. 

“I guess…” Harry said softly—barely a whisper. 

Draco whipped his head around so fast he must've pulled a muscle. “Who?” 

Harry seemed to lose all his confidence in a matter of seconds, he turned away from Draco and mumbled something incoherent that sounded like “it's nothing.”

“That was fast,” Miles cut in, flashing a knowing smirk at Draco as he draped his arm over his shoulders. “Merlin above, Draco, you almost snapped your neck turning ‘round like that,” he cackled and Draco felt his face heat up. 

“Don't bully him, Miles,” Marcus called from in front of them, his tone was scolding but the smile on his face absolutely wasn't. Traitor. 

Miles raised both his hands innocently, as if he wasn't the one at fault with this mess. “Just making an astute observation, Cap’,” the older boy grinned like a fox, and Draco was horribly reminded of Blaise. Maybe a little Theo. 

The rest of November went on without much hassle. Aside from Draco's friends, he started hanging out with his Quidditch team too, if invited. Which was practically all the time. 

Hanging out with his Quidditch team was like a breath of fresh air, while Draco adored his friends, they never really liked the things he did—like Quidditch. 

They'd spend the free afternoons soaring through the sky in the lazy droplets of the rain, and they'd occasionally sneak Draco out from under Filch's nose in the middle of the night and not take him back into the dorms until dawn broke through the horizon. 

They'd even talk about all sorts of things. Things that Draco felt he couldn't say to his friends. Despite being around older boys, they made him feel like an equal, and the environment was comfortable. Sometimes a bit too comfortable—they stopped filtering their conversations after around the third time, and chatted about things like sex or drinking. Draco never understood the hype. 

Pansy made it very known that she didn't like the change, and was especially prickly every time Draco's “new mates” (as she liked to call them, which didn't make sense to Draco, they weren't his friends) would pass by and say hi. 

Draco tried to reassure Pansy that it wasn't like that, and that no, he wasn't replacing them. Because he wasn't. He expected Blaise to back him up, and say Pansy was being completely ridiculous—but he found that Blaise was even more jealous than Pansy was. 

At first, Blaise had been petty about it, picking mean jokes and rude choice words, but after a while he just took to ignoring Draco completely. 

Draco was used to being ignored, and was frankly amused to it all. He knew this would be temporary, and that his friends would be used to it after a few weeks. That didn't stop him from being a bit hurt, though. 

After a particularly rough row with Blaise in the common room that Draco could barely even remember the reason for, he found himself walking alone to Astronomy class. Well, partly alone.

About a minute into his journey up to the tower, he heard the invisible footsteps of a certain Harry Potter following him. Draco fought the smile that was creeping up on his lips, squeezing his books tightly into his chest as he quickened his pace. He could hear the faint thuds of Harry's heavy feet trying to catch up, and he struggled to hold in a snort.

Draco wondered when Harry would reveal himself, and assumed on many instances that he would (because Harry was never a patient boy), but was ultimately surprised when they were halfway up the staircase and there was still no sign of wild black hair running to scare the daylights out of him. 

He made a sharp right turn into a tiny alcove, and reached blindly into the air. When his fingers came into contact with the soft fabric of the invisibility cloak, he pulled hard and a heavy body bumped him further into the small space. 

“Ow!” Harry squeaked, the fabric fell from his messy head and revealed a lopsided grin and skewed glasses. 

“Hi. Why are you following me?” Draco asked, his head tilted to the side. With his lips pursed and his arms crossed, in an attempt to look somewhat annoyed. 

“I don't know what you mean,” said Harry, raising his hands. His smile was wide and warm. “I was only going to class.”

“With your cloak on?” He snorted, grabbing the cloak from the floor and dangling it in front of the other boy. Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “Uhm, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. No crimes've been committed.”

“Well, I assure you, I'm not the crying school girl I know you thought I was being,” Draco rolled his eyes, reaching up to fix Harry's glasses into a comfortable position on the bridge of his nose. 

“That's, uh, good,” Harry cleared his throat, turning away and blinking something out of his eyes. 

A sharp, low whistle cut through the air of the alcove, and Draco’s head snapped up to peer past Harry's shoulder to the staircase behind him. Ronald and Hermione were standing there. 

The owner of the shrill sound seemed to be Ronald, his expression close to a sneer as he locked eyes with Draco, like he was saying “I don't like you.” Funny. Draco didn't particularly like the red-headed boy either. 

Hermione’s face was a lot more welcoming despite the clear exhaustion in it, her lips pressed into a thin smile, and her eyes were deep set from what Draco assumed was the constant weight of the idiocy the boy next to her carried. Or from studying. Either of the two. 

“Your friends are here,” he muttered to Harry, clearing his throat. Harry blinked at him and tilted his head. "They're your friends too, don't act like they aren't,” he said. 

Draco’s nose wrinkled before he could stop it, like the very idea physically offended him. (Ronald Weasley, his friend? Merlin spare him.) He flicked a glance at Hermione, who was watching Harry with that thoughtful look she always had. She didn’t grate on him nearly as much—but that hardly meant he was about to start calling her a friend.

Harry huffed a laugh at the expression on Draco's face, he draped an arm around his shoulder as he dragged him to the two Gryffindors waiting for them. 

As they moved into range of conversation, Ronald had moved on to whining to Hermione about how pants Astronomy was, and that it was a useless class. Draco could never get over his hatred of the freckled boy. 

“It's not that bad, Ron,” chimed Harry, “It's fun if you actually start paying attention,” Ronald's face turned an icky shade of red at the insinuation, matching his hair. Draco snickered into his emerald-striped scarf, he taught Harry well. 

Ronald's eyes landed on him, Draco had to clear his throat and turn to Hermione innocently. “Why're you two here, anyway?” he asked her, “I thought Gryffindors would be done with Astronomy by now.”

“Professor Sinistra thought it would be good if the first years had joint classes this week, so we're here with you,” she supplied in that know-it-all tone she always used when someone mentioned school. 

“why do they always pair us with the Slytherins? No offense,” Ronald mumbled to Harry as they walked up the stairs, promptly ignoring Draco. “It's like they don't know about the House rivalry.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “they pair us up precisely because of the House rivalry, Ron,” she turned to give him a warning glare before pushing the large wooden door open, into the Astronomy Tower. 

Draco went ahead of their group, lingering near a pillar at the back, close to a balcony. He always chose this spot, even if he found it hard to see the board or hear the professor speak—because from here, if he leaned at just the right angle, he could see his namesake in the sky—winding around Ursa Minor—Draco. 

Harry settled next to him, leaving Ronald and Hermione with no choice but to follow. “—But this spot's rubbish,” he heard Ronald say, and his jaw hurt from straining it to not spout an insult at the ginger. 

Hermione shushed him, which Draco was thankful for. A few late students shuffled into the class, two of them being Blaise and Pansy. Pansy gave Draco a longing look as they stood at the front of the class, they never did that. They always lingered with Draco in the back. A pang hit him hard in the chest. 

Professor Sinistra started the lesson off by pairing them into groups, with four members each—two Slytherins and two Gryffindors. Draco was forced to pair with Daphne Greengrass, who he wasn't too upset about. He knew her brother, and they've worked together in Potions plenty of times. 

The problem lay with the Gryffindors in his group. He was unlucky enough to have Ronald Weasley and Dean Thomas, who were busying themselves with toying with the handheld telescope in their hands, their sticky fingers fogging up the lens. He and Daphne shared a look. 

Professor Sinistra had tasked them with observing the Moon's phases over the course of a month, and determining its magical properties with every phase. Each member of their group would pick a night to observe the moon, determine its phase, and write a paragraph about it. 

After the month is over, each group would present a chart of their records to the class. Draco scribbled the detailed instructions on a piece of parchment, his quill scratching the surface of the paper and leaving sharp, looping lines of cursive. 

As he was writing, Daphne decided it would be nice to strike up a conversation with the Gryffindors. “So, you're a Weasley, right?” She asked Ronald, resting her chin in her hand as she leaned forward into his space. The ginger froze, the telescope still in his hand as he looked at her with wide eyes, as if unbelieving that she would actually talk to him. 

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, sharing a look with Thomas, who seemed equally as surprised. “Wow,” Daphne said, “you know, I've always been interested in you,” she blurted out, and Draco almost ripped a hole into his paper from how caught off guard he was. 

Ronald wasn't any better, for he completely choked on his own spit, and had to be patted on the back by a concerned Thomas. 

“Are you alright?” Daphne asked innocently, and the ginger boy rapidly nodded. “Uhm—” he said, his voice coming out strained, “what—what makes you say that?”

“Well, you're Ginny's brother, aren't you?” Daphne said lightly, tucking a stray blonde curl behind her ear. “I've always thought it was fascinating… Your family dynamic, I mean,” she gestured vaguely into the wind, a sweet smile played on her face. 

Ronald frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, you know,” she continued, her tone airy and pleasant in a way that made Draco's ears bleed. He reminded himself that Daphne was nothing like Nat. 

“A big, close-knit family. I've always been envious of that. I only have one sibling, you see—my sister,” she tilted her head, and Draco gripped his quill so hard it almost snapped. You have two, he thought; you have a brother. Say it. 

“But my sister and I aren't very close, so I was hoping perhaps you could share yours?” She giggled then, shrill and high-pitched. Similar to Pansy's laugh, but lacking all of the warmth. 

Ronald's eyes widened at the girl's words, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly like a fish. “You—want to be friends with Ginny?” he asked. 

“Of course,” Daphne said smoothly, "I think she and I could get on quite well. She has spirit. I admire that,” she leaned in just an inch closer. “And you seem like the sort of brother who knows everything about her. What she likes. Who she hangs around. What she talks about.”

Ronald blinked. “…I mean—I guess?”

“Wonderful,” Daphne said, smiling sweetly. “You’ll have to tell me all about her sometime.” She reached for her quill, pretending the conversation had been a perfectly normal one, while all three boys stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

Chapter Text

A week after the Astronomy incident, Draco was walking across the entrance hall when he saw Harry, Ronald, Hermione, and many other students gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Harry and Hermione beckoned him over, looking excited.

“Hey, Draco,” said Harry, “Did you know—” 

“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” 

A loud Gryffindor boy named Seamus Finnigan cut in, looking unnervingly hyper. “First meeting tonight! I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days…”

Draco looked at the boy with a puzzled expression, and turned to Harry, “What for?” he asked the green-eyed boy. 

Harry shrugged. “No idea. Lockhart organized it, I think—” 

“What, you reckon that fumbling fool can duel?” 

Ronald chimed in, seemingly bored, but he, too, read the sign with interest. Draco tried not to let out a laugh at how Harry glared daggers into the back of the ginger’s head—seemingly sick of being interrupted. 

Draco then glanced at the notice board himself, reading the contents and noticing how much of an eyesore Professor Lockhart's grin was plastered on the poster. He never knew how that git won best smile five times on Witch Weekly. Not that he read that scandalous rubbish. He just happened to stumble upon it. Well, anyway—

Gilderoy Lockhart, famous wizarding celebrity and author, was their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. A replacement to Quirrell, their last professor, after the troll fiasco last year that the staff found out he had let in because of his own negligence and cowardice. 

Despite Quirrell being an incompetent person, he was an alright teacher, and Draco still managed to get above-average grades in his class. Lockhart, on the other hand—was the worst professor imaginable, and Draco had never gotten a lower score in any subject. 

His father had not been thrilled when the report arrived. He could tell immediately from the letter his father had sent him. The letter was shorter than usual, the handwriting sharper, as though every stroke of the quill had been made with restrained irritation. But there was no anger in the words themselves—just a cool, clipped line that read, “I trust you will address this lapse with the appropriate diligence.”

Facing his father's disappointment did not bode well for Draco's self-esteem, and he took it upon himself to blame the one person who he thought was responsible—Lockhart. Needless to say, he wasn't going to be taking part of the stupid, useless dueling club the professor had arranged. 

“Could be useful,” Ronald said to Harry and Hermione as Draco snapped out of his thoughts. “Shall we go?”

“You do know we still have that Astronomy project, right? It's your turn tonight,” Draco said to Ronald and the boy physically deflated. 

“Oh, come on, Daphne’s offered to do my work for me,” Ronald whined, and Hermione smacked him on the arm so fast, Draco didn't even realise it happened. “She's what? Ron, that's cheating! Why would she do that? You don't even know her!” Hermione said, completely outraged. 

“Ow, ‘Mione!” complained Ronald, rubbing the side of his arm like her touch stung. “Calm down, will you? Bloody hell…” he shot a helpless look at Harry, probably silently communicating with him about how dramatic she was. 

“Wait, why is she trying to do your work?” Draco asked, raising a blonde eyebrow. He had a weird feeling about this. Daphne never helped anyone—much less a Weasley. 

Ronald shrugged, “I dunno, out of the goodness of her heart?” he offered, and Draco gave him an unimpressed look. 

“She's a Slytherin, there is no goodness in her heart,” he said, and Harry reluctantly nodded next to him. They both could admit that not many Slytherins were as nice as they are. Aside from their friends (there was the Quidditch team, but Draco decided they were more arseholes than they were not, so they don't count.) 

Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed. “So, you're saying she has an ulterior motive?” she asked, incredulous. 

“Not exactly,” Draco muttered, leading the other three into the Great Hall, sitting at one of the ends of the Gryffindor table—because he sure as Merlin wasn't going to be saying this at Slytherin. Not that Ronald would ever want to sit there, the picky sod. 

He placed his arms on the table, leaning in close to the others. “Daphne's been acting strange lately,” he whispered. 

“Strange how?” Ronald muttered back.

“Seriously? You haven't noticed?” Draco asked, and the other boy shrugged. 

He sighed loudly, leaning closer. “She's been trying to befriend your sister, that's what's strange.”

Hermione furrowed her brows, “Ginny? Why?” she asked.

He shrugged, leaning back into his chair. “Well, have you got any inside information? You're in the same House, after all,” suggested Ronald. 

Draco pulled a face. “That doesn't mean I talk to her,” he said, Harry then raised his hand. “We could always ask Pansy,” he turned to the two Gryffindors who seemed utterly puzzled at the prospect, “she knows everything about everyone,” he informed them. 

“That… might just work,” Draco mumbled, nodding to himself. 

“You want to know what?” Pansy raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

The five of them were gathered in an empty classroom hidden away in the dungeons, the cold air swirled around as Pansy sat across from them, right on what once was a teacher's desk—Draco thought distantly that it had seen better days. 

He elbowed Harry in the ribs, to which he yelped. “What?” the green-eyed boy said through gritted teeth. 

“You tell her.” 

“Why?”

“because she listens to you more.”

Harry rolled his eyes, rubbing his side in defeat. “We need information on Daphne Greengrass, and we were hoping you could fill us in,” he said sheepishly. 

Draco was expecting a serious answer, or a dismissal, maybe even a bargain (because Pansy is a Slytherin, let's face it). What he didn't expect to come out of Pansy's mouth, though, was a hearty cackle. 

“Oh my,” she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, “Salazar, Harry, you absolutely tickle me.”

The four of them looked between each other in absolute confusion, a mixture of furrowed brows and frowns. Though, Ronald's expression seemed to have more fear in it. It was funny how he was so terrified of Pansy. 

Pansy cleared her throat. “You're serious,” she said, mostly toward Draco.

“Surprisingly,” he replied. Even he couldn't believe he was doing this. 

“Well,” She started, hopping off the desk and opting to lean on it instead. “I have no idea why you'd ever want to know about Daphne of all people,” she visibly shivered, like the idea actually grossed her out. “But, I'll have you know that there hasn't been anything new about her ever since Millie dropped her. She's so last season.” 

“What?” said Harry, and Pansy rolled her eyes. “Millicent Bulstrode?” she said, and Harry shook his head. “No, I know who Millie is. I meant, uh, why?”

Pansy shrugged. “Who knows? No one in their right mind would straight-up ask Millie, not unless they want their head hexed off.” 

They all fell in an uncomfortable silence, and Draco looked at Pansy with a specific look in his eyes. Pansy narrowed hers in return. 

“No,” she said, “absolutely not,” she crossed her arms, shaking her head so hard her short, raven-colored hair whipped around her face. 

“C'mon Pans, you're the only one who can do it,” Draco pleaded, stepping closer to her. In turn, she stepped backward, but she found herself pinched between Draco and the desk behind her. 

“And what's in it for me?” She asked. 

Draco narrowed his eyes at the girl. He knew it wasn't easy to convince Pansy Parkinson to do something she didn't want to, but he'd damn well try. 

“I'll carry your books to class for a week,” he proposed. Pansy's face twisted into a bored expression, “I can convince Blaise to do that in my sleep.”

The two Gryffindors in the room looked to Harry, “What are they doing?” asked Hermione, and Harry sighed. “They're bargaining.”

“Is that like a normal occurrence?” Ronald cut in. 

“Unfortunately,” Harry replied. 

“Well, can they get a move on, mate? I'm missing dinner,” the ginger boy whimpered as he held his stomach. 

“Is dinner all you think about?!” Hermione exclaimed in outrage as if the mention of Ronald's black hole for a stomach personally offended her. 

“Fine,” Draco groaned loudly then, interrupting the trio's conversation. “If you ask Millie, I'll carry them for a month,” he offered, Pansy smiled and hugged Draco. “Thanks, Dray!” 

Draco hoped this sacrifice would pay off. 

When Draco was dragged into the Great Hall by Blaise and Harry at eight o'clock that night with his beauty sleep unethically interrupted; he wasn't expecting to be standing at the center of the stage, wand at the ready, preparing to duel another student. Yet, as life appears to be holding a grudge, here he was. 

The night had begun fine, perfectly normal, even. 

Yes, Draco was yawning every few seconds and he could feel dark circles forming under his eyes, but he was watching Lockhart get absolutely pummeled by his Head of House, and no other form of entertainment could be as enjoyable as that. 

Perhaps he was laughing a bit too much though, because everything had stopped being fun when his Head of House approached him and decided that no, destroying Lockhart to smithereens wasn't enough apparently, and he needed to torment his favorite student as well, by pairing him up with Daphne Greengrass. 

He didn't want to blame his Head of House for this, he never wanted to hate Professor Snape at all, actually. Despite being absolutely terrifying, he was a wonderful teacher. 

This, however, was inexcusable. 

“Face your partners!” called Lockhart who was back on the platform, his voice booming across the hall. “And bow!” 

Draco reluctantly faced Daphne, he half-expected her to be smiling in the cheeky way she did in Astronomy class, but her face was completely devoid of emotion, a blank canvas. 

He recalled seeing her like this before, he usually saw her like this, now that he thought about it. In Potions, while mindlessly cutting up ingredients or stirring the cauldron. Calm and almost soft-looking. It reminded him strongly of Nat. 

He enjoyed the serene aura to Daphne, until she decided to curtsy and fall back into that cruel demeanor she recently adopted, a wicked look in her eye. Draco fought hard not to sneer as he bowed. 

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to Disarm your opponents—only to disarm them—we don’t want any accidents—one… two… three—”

Draco raised his wand, but Daphne's spell had already hit him square in the chest—a crawling sensation filled him all across his body, and he doubled over, clutching at his robes—desperate to get rid of the tickling. He wheezed out a breath, unable to inhale it again from all the constant laughing ringing in his ears. Was he the one laughing? 

“I said Disarm only!” Lockhart shouted, Oh, I'll be disarming, alright. He felt his knees scraping on the ground of the Hall and the pain from it gave him enough conscience to point his wand at the girl in front of him, he choked out “Expelliarmus!” 

A jet of light streamed out and hit Daphne's left hand, spewing out her wand and chucking it across the room. “Argh!” he heard Lockhart yell. 

The instant relief Draco felt as the spell lifted was jarring, the tingle underneath his skin had disappeared, replaced by a phantom feeling of what once was there. 

“Dear, dear,” said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. “Up you go, Macmillan… Careful there, Miss Fawcett… Pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second, Boot—” 

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. “Let’s have a volunteer pair—Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you go?” 

The two boys nervously walked up onto the stage, and Draco thought it'd be better to leave that mutt show for the other students to gawk at, instead focusing on the blonde girl in front of him. 

“Is our little Draco at that age?” A voice behind him whispered, and he felt the hairs on his nape prickle up and travel down his spine in one deep swoop. 

He turned swiftly toward the voice, his forehead almost bumping into the other person’s nose in the process. 

Theo managed to lean back in time, an easy smile on his face. “If you keep staring at girls, I might start getting jealous,” he teased. 

“It's not like that, you're so gross,” Draco muttered, pushing Theo's shoulder away. 

Theo chuckled, his broad shoulders bobbing up and down as he laughed. “If you say so,” the boy shrugged and walked back to Greg and Vince, who seemed positively scorched from their own duels. 

“He's a bit odd, isn't he?” someone said suddenly and Draco jumped a foot into the air. 

“Merlin! Why do you people always sneak up on me?!” He exclaimed, whirling to face the git who scared the absolute pixies out of him. 

Harry looked at him with an apologetic smile, “sorry,” he laughed awkwardly. All the anger seemed to drain out from under Draco's feet. “How was your duel?” Draco asked. 

“It was fine,” Harry nodded to the side, in the general direction of Longbottom, who was on the floor groaning from his duel. 

Draco scoffed at how pathetic the sight was, “lucky you,” he muttered, “I almost got tickled to death.” Harry looked at him with a puzzled expression. 

“Nevermind,” he sighed, glancing back at Pansy, who was laughing with Daphne. He hoped this would all be worth it. 

Draco was startled awake on the morning of December 5th shivering beneath his blankets. He furrowed his brows at the uncomfortable sensation, and he raised his head slightly to peek through the crack in the curtains of his four-poster bed. 

Gazing outside—he noticed the window was thoroughly frosted over, the lake no longer swaying and instead frozen. He cursed under his breath—a blizzard had fallen on Hogwarts. 

After successfully identifying the disturbance to his beauty rest, Draco made it his new mission to get out of bed and into the bathroom without attracting a hint of hypothermia. 

He kicked off his blankets in a rush, hissing at the cold air coming into contact with the rest of his body, and scrambled over to the warm, comforting palace that was their small green-tiled lavatory. 

Once inside, he breathed a sigh of relief—he was safe. 

Getting into Slytherin was probably the best achievement he could've ever accomplished at his young age (that and making the Quidditch team) and he would never trade it for anything. But sometimes, he wished that Salazar Slytherin would've had at least a small kindness in his heart to not make the dungeons absolutely freezing in the winter. 

He turned the tap of the shower on, and made sure the water was scolding enough to melt the skin of a dragon before stepping inside. 

After what might've been the greatest shower of his life, he turned off the tap and stepped out, wiping the steam that had fogged on the mirror. He gazed at his reflection, messing and picking parts of his face before running his hands along the silver strands of his hair. 

He didn't know when his hair had gotten so long, and certainly didn't remember how exactly the length had already reached his shoulders, brushing the curve of them. 

He didn't mind it, he looked great as he always did—but he found it odd to look at, perhaps he'd ask Pansy to cut it for him some day soon, since he wouldn't be going home for the Holidays. 

He had gotten the letter from his mother, stating that her and his father were off to Italy, visiting family. Draco wasn't too keen on coming along and having to put up with people he had never met before, so he opted to stay at the school with his friends instead. 

Well, some of his friends. His Slytherin friends were all going home for Christmas, forced to celebrate with their families. All of them besides Harry—who said he didn't have family to go home to—and Pansy, her reason being how she wanted to crack the Daphne mystery. 

At the thought of Daphne, Draco could see his own expression darken in the mirror, he almost laughed. He couldn't recall when the line between tolerating the girl and absolutely despising her began to blur. He didn't use to, but perhaps it was when he had gotten to know Nat. 

He sighed at nothing, pushing his hair out of his face and proceeded to get dressed. He threw a thin, black turtleneck over his head, and layered it with a warm jumper in a greenish tone he was particularly fond of. 

After he slipped on his trousers, he checked the mirror once more, the thing seemed to wake up then—coming alive and praising how he looked. His cheeks colored pink in surprise, before he walked out the bathroom in a hurry. 

Facing the freezing temperatures of the dorm wasn't as dangerous now that he was rightfully, warmly dressed. 

He fearlessly glanced around the room, at the empty beds of his roommates that were probably still sleeping soundly in their warm houses, probably curled up by the fire. Boy, was he jealous of them. 

Draco walked past the row of beds, running his fingertips along the elm wood, feeling the grooves carved into them. He paused in front of the foot of a particular interesting one. Harry's. 

The curtains were open, and there clearly was a Harry-shaped lump beneath the blankets—but Draco knew his precious friend enough to always be one step ahead. He ripped the emerald covers off the lump, and saw the array of carefully formed pillows that—rightfully—made a very convincing silhouette. 

A wicked grin played on Draco's face. Same as last time, he thought. Harry disappearing at the odd hours of dawn started to feel less like a mystery and more like a running joke the universe played on him. 

He sensed an odd spark of déjà vu, and particularly enjoyed the part where he didn't feel an extreme nervousness swirling in his gut with it. Thank Merlin the matches for December were cancelled. 

Pushing his thoughts for Quidditch aside, he left the Harry lump in the dorm and made his way into the common room, expecting to see the usual Pansy waiting just outside, ready to walk to breakfast—but there was no sign of her, either. 

With a frown, Draco shuffled along, his steps carrying much more weight as he grumbled up to the Great Hall. Making sure to sneer at the passersby along the way. 

As he turned the unsuspecting corner—just short of the Hall—he was abruptly pulled by the scruff of his neck into an alcove—disoriented, he grabbed for his wand in his pocket and shoved the tip of it right at what he assumed was the underside of the attacker's chin. 

Someone yelped in surprise—a shrill, high-pitched sound that Draco recognized instantly. Blinking his eyes open, he found he was directly in front of a green-faced Harry, and off to the side—in his periphery—was Pansy. 

“You brute!” Pansy exclaimed in a whisper, hitting Draco's shoulder rather harshly in repeating succession. 

“Ow! Ow!” He shouted, shielding himself away from the deathly hands of his friend, “I was only defending myself, you're the brutes! I'm still currently being manhandled!” 

Harry released him frantically—as if just now noticing that he was still holding him—mumbling a small apology.

“Shh! Quiet, you!” Pansy placed a finger to his mouth, and Draco swatted it away instinctively.

“What are you on about?” He grumbled, still feeling the sting on the side of his shoulder from where she hit him. 

“We're spying on Daphne,” Harry whispered. 

Draco blinked, only now noticing the muffled echoes around them; the faint shimmer of fabric brushing his hair. He tugged at it. They were under Harry's invisibility cloak.

“Why?” he asked, his voice automatically lowering, “what's she done now?” Pansy launched straight into filling him in—complete with much too many detours, hand-gestures and unnecessary voice acting. Somehow, Draco managed to make sense of it all. 

His two friends had seen Daphne inviting Ginny to hang out, and now they were walking along the corridors giggling. 

“You think she's sincere? Daphne, I mean,” Harry asked and Draco shook his head. “Knowing her—I doubt it,” Draco muttered, crossing his arms in deep thought. 

“Well, there's only one way to find out,” said Pansy, leading the two boys into the library, pushing them into the room.

Looking into the Hogwarts Library—with its menagerie of knowledge and wisdom all stuffed in a cramped, musty room—Draco would've missed the flash of blonde and orange hair just behind a shelf in the Warts and Wizarding Ailments section, if not for the shrieking laughter that followed. 

“Ah, I wonder where they are,” said Harry, a fed-up smile on his face that Draco sniggered at. 

“Focus, boys,” Pansy muttered, creeping toward the two girls, hiding behind a shelf as she leaned in to eavesdrop. Draco was quick to join her, pushing his face up against the spines of the books to get a better listen.

His eyes drifted to Harry, who seemed to be preoccupied with running his gaze over every book on the shelves, his head craning up to squint at the books that almost reached the ceiling. 

“What, never been in a library before?” Draco whispered. 

The boy whipped his head around, and Draco could see the pure wonder in his green irises, like he couldn't erase the emotion quick enough. “I..I have,” he stammered, his gaze flitting between Draco and Pansy—the glimmer in his eyes slowly dimming. “Not one this big, though.”

Draco's eyebrows knitted together. “Libraries can get smaller than this?”

Pansy made an abrupt shushing sound, her index finger pressed against her lips. “Quiet!” she exclaimed in a loud whisper, rapidly tapping on Draco's shoulder. Draco leaned in against the book spines again, his nose twitching at the dusty smell of them. 

He squinted through the tiny crack above the books, getting a glimpse of bright, jarring blonde just across—pale, nimble fingers flitting through pages rapidly—strings of whispers that Draco could barely make out—“You sure we should do this?” a sweet, muffled voice that sounded like Ginny's muttered, the tremble just prominent enough for Draco to take notice. 

He shot a glance at Pansy who met his gaze, he raised his eyebrows out at her and she shrugged in turn, leaning closer. He mimicked the move. 

“Obviously,” Daphne said, dropping the book she was holding with a loud thump. “Don't tell me you're backing out now?” 

“I'm not,” whispered Ginny. 

“Then quit acting soft,” Daphne snickered, loud and disdainful. He grimaced at the sound. “It's a little prank, nothing major.”

“Prank?” Draco startled, whirling around to see Harry next to his ear, crouching down too. 

Draco nodded stiffly. “Yeah,” he pushed himself off the shelf, running a hand through his slicked hair. 

“They're so up to something,” Pansy said, moving to stand. Draco held out a hand and she took it. “Really? Didn't catch that,” He muttered, rolling his eyes. 

Harry wiped his hands on his robes. “Well, what are we going to do?” 

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Nothing,” he said. 

“Nothing?”

“Yes, nothing, Harry,” He said irritably. “It's a prank, not certain death. What do you expect us to do?”

“I don't know—something! Ginny's obviously being pushed into it.” Harry threw up his hands. 

“Well, I'm sure she's smart enough to know what she's doing. Besides, I'm sure it'll be funny, anyway.” 

“Are you serious? Funny?” 

Draco opened his mouth to retort until he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned around to see Pansy giving him a warning glare. “Stop arguing, you two,” she sighed. 

“We're not arguing, Pansy. It's just Draco being daft,” Harry muttered. 

“I'm the one being daft? I'm not the one taking things out of hand!” 

“You're the one who started it! You're the reason Pansy's even in on this in the first place.” Harry pointed at the girl, who leaned back on a desk with a bored look on her face. 

“Because it was weird that Daphne was sucking up to Ginny—”

“So it's not weird now?”

“No!” Draco exclaimed. “The Weasley twins are her brothers, and Daphne's doing some stupid prank—think about things for a minute, Harry. Stop being a Gryffindor.”

“Stop being a—what? What does that mean?” Harry asked, his hands falling to his sides. 

Draco faltered, whatever anger he had immediately dissipated. “Nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair again, feeling restless. 

He realises that Harry wouldn't understand, even if Draco explained it to him like a child—he just wouldn't get what being a Gryffindor meant. He wouldn't understand how much Draco envied it. 

“It's nothing,” he said again, pushing past Harry—bumping into his shoulder as he walked out of the library. Distantly, he could hear Pansy calling his name. 

Draco's fork clattered and scraped against his plate, swishing around his pile of mash that looked particularly unappetizing. 

“Ugh, mash for breakfast?” Theo muttered, sinking down in the spot next to him, grabbing a fork and mixing the goo that squelched under the prongs. “What a load of kneazle.”

Draco might've snickered at that, but he found himself to be in a shit mood, with Harry and Pansy sucking up to the Gryffindors at the stupid Gryffindor table just a few meters away. 

“Hey,” the mousy boy bumped his shoulder, and Draco made a half-hearted noise in answer. 

“Okay, uhh,” Theo sucked at his teeth, fiddling with the utensil between his thumbs, twisting and turning until mash flung about. “A little niffler told me that you—” he pointed the fork in Draco's direction. “—got yourself into another fight. With Harry,” he finished the gesture by pointing the fork at Harry; Draco groaned. 

“Did Pansy put you up to this?" He muttered, turning away from the other boy. 

“Hey, hey—” Theo quickly turned him back around by the shoulders, and grey met warm brown. 

“Did Pansy put me up to what? I told you, my informant was a niffler,” he put on an easy smile, and Draco almost found himself believing him, just because. 

“Well, okay, then that niffler of yours is wrong; Harry and I are getting along swell,” Draco sniffed and Theo's smile managed to get softer. 

“I can tell when you lie, Dray.”

“I'm not lying.”

“Then why is Harry looking over here every four seconds like a kicked puppy?” Draco looked up and—as if on cue—Harry glanced sideways from his conversation with Ronald, and their eyes met. 

Draco frantically blinked away, looking back up at Theo. “Told you, very much like a kicked puppy,” Theo shrugged. 

“I don't know what you mean,” he cleared his throat, fixing his eyes on his untouched plate, scraping around the pale yellow mash that made him want to vomit just looking at it. 

“Okay—no.” 

Draco looked up from his plate to see Theo looking at him weirdly. “What?” 

“No. You're not doing this again,” Theo said, crossing his arms up to his chest as he raised his eyebrows. 

“Not doing what again?”

“Acting all weird and pretending like you don't care when you really—” Theo took a sip of his pumpkin juice, “—really do.”

“I'm not acting weird,” Draco said, his chest puffing out. 

“Yes, you are. Here's the thing about you, Dray: you always hide and withhold what you're really thinking until it all blows up in your—everyone's faces.” Draco's shoulders sagged at those words. He did not hide—at least he'd like to think he didn't. Even if he did—well, why wouldn’t he? It's so easy to just… not do anything, let it sit and simmer until it dies out and there isn't a problem to deal with anymore. 

“You're thinking you don't, right?” the brunette boy asked, and Draco wasn't even surprised. Theo always could read his mind, ever since they were kids. Theo pointed his stubby finger at him with a smug smile. “Well, first year says otherwise. Quite the tantrum you had.”

Draco's cheeks flushed at the memory. The jealousy, the pettiness, and how childish it all was—it all came flooding back into his mind. It was all so trivial to him now. 

Sure, he still gets mildly upset when Hermione outshines him, but it's always covered up by the fact he's proud of her now. He doesn't know why—I mean, they weren't friends. Just people who knew each other through Harry. 

And he definitely isn't friends with Ronald. But he does call him by his first name now (never Ron, though. Merlin, can you imagine if he did? Disaster!) 

Needless to say, he was dramatic then, but now he isn't, and he won't ever be. He's moved on from that;ergo, he isn't hiding. Draco Malfoy never hides. It's unbecoming. 

Theo's gaze softened into something pinched, his palm setting itself on Draco's shoulder. “Look, if you don't want a repeat of that then just go bloody talk to him, alright? Say you're sorry or something.”

He mulled it over for a while, the thought of him—a Malfoy—apologizing was not pleasant to his ears, and he didn't fancy the idea in the slightest. Well—he's said “sorry” before, every now and then. But he's never actually apologized for something.

But he damn well isn't stupid enough to stop talking to Harry again. So, like with all things in his life, he was going to have to suck it up.

“Is that settled? No more of ‘The Great Potter Avoidance’?” Theo says and Draco fights not to roll his eyes, of course Theo—the complete dork that he was—would have a name for that. A stupid one, too. 

He nodded stiffly and Theo gave a satisfied huff, moving to stand and taking his plate of food with him. 

“Wait, where are you going?” he asked him, the other boy shrugged—a lopsided smile on his face. 

“I'm going on a mission of my own;I don't fancy this prison food, so I'm off to the kitchens, ” Theo says, and Draco almost breaks his neck with how fast he craned to look up at him. 

“How do you know about the kitchens?” he asked and Theo rolled his eyes dramatically. “Robbed information off a Hufflepuff, it's not that hard.” Theo scruffed up Draco's hair as he left, snickering at Draco's protests. 

Draco seriously hated him.