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Chapter Text

When Harry wakes up, he notices two things.

His surroundings are completely dark, and he has a killer headache.

This is not a new occurrence for him. At this point in life it's practically routine to wake up to pain, confusion, and darkness. He's used to all of those.

What is different, however, is the space he wakes up in. For a second he stops breathing before his wits come back to him. He may not be able to see well, and his head may still be spinning, but there's no way he's not recognizing the place where he spent so much of his childhood.

He would never not recognize his cupboard.

When the door of his 'room' is forcibly opened a few moments later, he's not surprised to see the ugly face of aunt Petunia, using her shrill voice to screech orders at him.

As he crawls outside the cupboard, he comes face to face with his relatives. His awful relatives that had made the first eleven years of his life a living hell.

There's only one possible reaction he can have to this situation.

Harry smiles.

His plan worked.

Hermione had once said that messing with time travel was dangerous, that wizards have been lost to time for daring to disturb the timeline. Well, those wizards weren't Harry Potter with a grudge, now. Were they?

He spends the day pretending to be a normal ten year old boy—as normal as a ten year old boy who is treated worse than a house elf can be, of course— while mentally going over his plan. The chores Petunia gives him are so dull he can easily do them while his mind is miles away, occlumency being useful for once in his life, and they have the benefit of letting him go all over the house taking all the stuff he needs to "borrow" to exact his escape.

Some markers from Dudley's second bedroom, a pack of cigarettes that fell behind the sofa, a torch and some paint from the garden shed, and finally, a small knife from the kitchen sink. It all ends in his cupboard.

He can easily tune out the insults, and Vernon is not angry enough to give him a beating, so the day goes on without any major incident. It's only when the night falls and the Dursleys go to bed that Harry lets himself act.

He uses the torch to see and the markers to trace the runes he needs inside of the cupboard, before cutting himself with the knife and letting his blood mix with the paint.

Trying wandless magic with his currently underdeveloped body would end... not well, probably. But making a rune array with his own blood? A wizard's blood? That might just work.

A wizard's blood has power, Dumbledore had told him all those years ago, and as much as the old headmaster lied to him throughout his life, this one thing he knows for a fact.

Blood has power. Just not in the way Dumbledore liked to pretend it did. There is no power in the blood of an aunt that resents your very existence. There is no love in a household like the Dursley's.

As he finishes drawing the last rune, they all light up for an instant, before fading away into nothingness. It doesn't worry him, that's how they're supposed to be: invisible and untraceable.

No one but him will know they're there. Not now, and not in the morning when all that's left of Privet Drive number four is ashes and a miraculously untouched cupboard. The place where a little boy slept. And really, such a preventable accident. Vernon should have known better than to leave a lit cigarette in the kitchen's trash can, especially after Petunia forgot to turn off the gas on the stove.

But oh, well. What can you do?

Surprisingly, it's Ron who spends the most time helping him study runes and rituals. His hatred for everything "dark" only got worse after what happened to Hermione, but he'd been willing to swallow that hatred if Harry's insane plan was even remotely possible. Harry doesn't have it in him to tell him that his best friend is as dark as they come, by this point.

The few months after the death of the Dursleys are pretty hectic.

The day right after the fact he is introduced to a nice social worker named Maggie. He's shy, and polite, and still affected by the tragic death of his entire family. "I can hear them scream," He whispers to her, like it's a shameful secret. Her heart breaks for the poor brave boy who has to endure all this, and Harry has to fight to repress a smirk.

He answers all the questions she comes up with, and soon after that, the fire is declared an accident without fanfare.

When Maggie tells him that he's going to go to a foster home, Harry smiles and nods, but he isn't surprised when that same day Albus Dumbledore walks into the building and tells young Harry that he's a wizard and he must live with his kind.

It's not like he didn't expect Mrs. Figg to tell Dumbledore of the fire right away, and he didn't expect to suddenly be able to live on his own, being in the body of a ten year old boy and all, but it's annoying that he's now going to go a magical family who will want to keep an eye on him.

He doesn't let that show, though.

Harry's eyes shine and twinkle as Dumbledore "Please call me Albus, my boy." tells him about the magic world, but he makes sure they don't meet the old man's, no need to test his mental shields right now.

Albus takes him to The Burrow after that.

Harry doesn't see him again until he goes back to Hogwarts and he thanks Merlin for small mercies.

He doesn't tell anyone that he has ulterior motives, although Luna probably knows. She sees things none of them do. Not that she ever tells anyone what she sees. She does't speak much nowadays.

Living with the Weasleys is easy.

They're loud and close knit, and no one really gets privacy, but he's used to that. He sneaks out and uses the twins' brooms in the backyard, pretending that he doesn't notice them as they watch him soar in the sky. He plays chess with Ron and exploding snap with Ginny, and loses terribly at both. Pretends to be a normal boy. All in all, it's a good place to rest, bulk up and generally heal from the damage the Dursleys left on his body before he finds a permanent place to live in.

Because he's definitely not staying here forever.

A few months after the "traumatic event" he pretends his accidental magic is out of control, It's not entirely a lie, with the way he's growing both physically and magically, but he uses it to guide Molly into getting him his own wand ahead of time.

Since he's not enrolled in school yet, the trace technically doesn't apply to him, and even if that were the case, Arthur knows a man that knows a man, and he gets a special dispensation to use magic while underage for health reasons.

He doesn't really need his holly and phoenix feather wand. He's planning on an upgrade soon enough, but he's pleasantly surprised when it chooses him again. There's no horcrux in his scar anymore, no more connection to Tom Riddle. It was burned out with the ritual that brought him back to the past.

The two older Weasley sons come by to meet him, and he manages to rope Charlie into "teaching him" some spells when he visits. Wanting to learn the stunner, binding, and disarming charm all can be easily excused with him having an interest in defense, but the revealing charm he wants is a bit more tricky, has less practical uses besides being able to expose a hidden animagus. He somehow manages it, though. And it's certainly worth it when he promptly uses it on Scabbers and then stuns him after he gets scared by the big strange man.

They call the aurors, and since the case involves Harry Potter, the head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones herself takes charge of the investigation.

Peter Pettigrew's arrest goes smoothly.

They borrow a couple of runes from the veil. No one can quite tell him how they work, they just know they do. That's okay with Harry. He's always been more of a results kind of guy.

It doesn't surprise him when Arthur sits him down and explains the situation with Sirius. How everyone thought he was guilty and the discovery of Pettigrew made them realize something was off. He tells Harry that Sirius Black is his godfather.

The way Harry's eyes shine at the prospect of reuniting with the man is not entirely pretend.

The wheels of justice turn slowly, and Lucius Malfoy's pockets certainly try to slow them down even further. Harry rejoices in the knowledge that he'll do something about him soon. By the time he and Ron get their Hogwarts letters Sirius still hasn't had a trial, but he's out of Azkaban, now detained in a ministry cell, where he's allegedly getting healed both physically and mentally. Harry suspects Minister Fudge is dragging his feet before the inevitable happens, but he has a plan in case the man decides to do something stupid.

Getting his school supplies isn't much of an event, his scar is all but gone, and without it or his glasses (his eyesight had been fixed when Molly took him to a check up with a healer) people tend to not recognize him. Especially when he's buried in a sea of redheads.

He escapes the group when they enter a bookstore, and walks lightly over to Madame Malkins.

"Hogwarts, dear?” she asks, when Harry steps in. "Got the lot here—Another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”

Harry smiles, walking to the platform next to the one where a blond kid stands. Green eyes meet grey, and he smiles to Draco Malfoy, who looks back at him enraptured.

"Hello. Hogwarts, too?" He asks, and Harry nods.

"Been waiting for this for years, haven't I?" Draco nods back approvingly.

"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Harry Potter, a pleasure to meet you, Draco." he says, extending a hand.

He might be saving many people by doing this, but he doesn't really care about that. When he draws the last rune of the array, his only thought is that soon he will get to see that pair of grey eyes again, and this time he will destroy heaven and hell before he loses them.

Chapter Text

August comes and goes. The date of Sirius' trial is set to be sometime during October, and Harry exchanges letters with Draco almost daily.

It's interesting talking to a young Draco Malfoy. In his past life they were nowhere near friends at this point in time and he revels in getting to know another version of him. It's not all roses, of course. The young Malfoy still idolizes his father more than he probably should, and he hasn't had the pureblood supremacy ideology beaten out of him yet. He'll have to work on that.

He keeps the letters in a decorative box with an undetectable expanding charm inside his trunk. Hedwig, who he didn't hesitate to buy again, knows to only deliver anything to him when he's alone. The Weasley-Malfoy feud is older than even Mr. Wesley himself, and Harry really doesn't feel like explaining to the family why he's writing to their enemy.

On September 1st they make their way to platform 9&¾ only ten minutes before departure. They move hurriedly but not, he notices, bringing attention to themselves by screaming about how filled with muggles the place is.

As an adult he'd figured that his first meeting with the Weasley family wasn't as casual as it looked, and this feels like confirmation of that. Whether they'd been put to it by someone else or they had just wanted to help the small lost kid they saw, he's yet to decide, but at this point, it doesn't really affect him.

He and Ron board the train as soon as Mrs. Weasley is done saying her tearful goodbyes, and they pick an empty compartment near the rear of the train. As soon as they sit down the redhead pulls out a quidditch magazine while Harry discreetly rereads the last letter he got from Draco.

Dear Harry, it reads.

Mother found the broom I planned to sneak inside my trunk and promptly confiscated it. I may never recover from the slight.

Do you really not know which house you'll be in? I think you will be a Slytherin, and I'm not just saying that because that's where I'll be going. It's only natural that we should be placed in the best house. Father once told me you can see into the black lake from the common room!

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

Underneath the signature, right on the bottom of the letter, there's a doodle of two kids on a train. Harry can't help but smile at the small detail.

He had almost forgotten how cute Draco Malfoy could be.

The letter reminds him that he still has to make up his mind about what house he wants to be sorted in. Sure, he could go ahead and ask the hat to put him in Gryffindor again. It'd be something familiar, but these days he doesn't care much about bravery and justice, they feel like foreign concepts to him. He has a duty to fulfill and a Draco to protect and that's all he cares about.

He's never been tempted by Ravenclaw, knowledge and wit can be useful, sure, but they're means to an end to him, something more Slytherin than anything. Slytherin might suit him the best, and he'd get to share a dorm room with Draco, but does he really want to face the extra scrutiny that would come with being in the "evil" house? He doesn't think so.

Hufflepuff feels... decent . It would allow him to fade into the background as much as possible, and it's near the dungeons and the kitchen, meaning access to food, the house elves, and Draco whenever he feels like it.

Maybe he'll ask the hat for Hufflepuff after all, Draco can sneak him into the Slytherin common room if he really wants to show him the lake.

His musings are interrupted by a high pitched voice, and when he looks up, the protagonist of his thoughts is standing right in front of him, on the door of the compartment.

"Harry!" Draco exclaims as soon as he sees him inside, his cheeks blushed a rosy pink.

He has to resist the need to pinch them and sit him on his lap when he comes in like he owns the place, Crabbe and Goyle following a step behind.

"Hey, Draco, did you miss me?" He jokes, and it's then that Draco notices that he isn't sitting alone. His demeanor changes instantly.

"It's been awfully dreadful not having someone to hold an intelligent conversation with," He says, over enunciating his words and taking a seat next to Harry, pointedly ignoring Ron at his other side.

He has to bite back a snort at that. "Draco, this is my friend Ron, I've been staying with his family since my relatives passed away. Ron, this is my friend Draco, we met on Diagon on my birthday" He makes sure to emphasize the word friend each time.

"Enchanted, I'm sure." Draco says, a hand extended in greeting.

For a second it looks like Ron is going to refuse it but one look at Harry has him huffing and shaking the offered hand.

"Same," Ron says.

Crisis averted, right there.

Not much else happens during the train ride. Neville and Hermione show up looking for his missing toad, and Harry makes a point of being nice when Draco frowns at Hermione's last name, but after that he just falls asleep with his head on Harry's shoulder until they reach Hogsmeade's station.

The sight of the castle is nothing new to him, but he makes sure to join the crowd of 'ohh's and 'ahh's when it comes into view.

Eventually the sorting ceremony starts, and Harry claps when he recognizes a name and remains utterly bored when he doesn't. He makes sure to clap extra hard when "Malfoy, Draco" gets sorted into Slytherin in less than a second, and is rewarded with a smile by a preening blond.

When his turn comes the hat stays silent for a long time. For a moment, he worries that he's about to be outed as a time traveler, and all his plans will become useless, but as soon as the thought crosses his mind the hat finally speaks.

"Worry not, Mr. Potter. I couldn't share your secrets even if I tried. I was bound to secrecy by Godric Gryffindor himself."

Harry visibly relaxes.

"I must admit that this situation is a first for me. I never knew time travel like this was possible, so I'll just share my thoughts with you, and what I think is: Hufflepuff? There's no way, Mr. Potter."

Harry has to physically stop himself from groaning.

"Why not?" He asks mentally. "'I'll take the lot of them, and teach them all the same', isn't that what Helga Hufflepuff herself said? And you can't possibly tell me I'm not a hard worker."

"You might be right about that, but you, mister, are not 'the lot'. You would work as hard as it was necessary to accomplish your goals, but you don't care about hard work when an easier alternative is available." The hat explains. "Not to mention the fact that you would destroy those kids the very moment they annoyed you with all their talks about feelings"

"Look," Harry sighs. "I'm not trying to start anything, I just want to go to Hufflepuff and blend in the background. I'm not after any of the students here, so you don't need to worry about that."

"Oh, and am I to ignore your plans to kill at least three of the professors?"

"Tell anyone about that and I'll drop you in a cauldron full of basilisk venom," Harry threatens. "And you can't tell me they don't deserve it."

The hat laughs at him. "Sworn to secrecy, Mr. Potter. Remember that. A part of me is glad that many of the events you experienced won't come to pass in this time. But the fact remains that I will not assist you in your murderous endeavors. That being said, the fact that you had the gall to threaten a magical artifact centuries older than yourself almost makes me want to put you in Gryffindor, but I've seen your mind, and this time you will not talk me out of putting you in... SLYTHERIN!"

Fuck.

The silence after his sorting is deafening, but Draco claps for him, and really, that's all he asks for. Snape is glaring daggers at him, and Dumbledore's gaze is icy, but they don't try to stop him from walking to the green table at one end of the great hall.

When dinner ends they're taken to the Slytherin dorm by the fifth year prefects, and after a speech by them, they're told that they will be sleeping two to a room.

Harry's excitement only lasts until he sees the nameplates on the doors.

Vincent Crabbe & Gregory Goyle

Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott

Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini

Yeah, that won't do.

With a sigh, he makes his way to the common room. If he's going to be a slytherin, he might as well embrace it.

What he knows about Theodore Nott from his previous life can be summed up in three statements. He was a bookworm. He didn't get the mark after Voldemort resurrected in his fourth year. He was killed sometime after he was caught stealing a time turner from the ministry. That's about it.

Harry stays in the common room after most of the other first years leave. Nott hasn't left either. He's too busy eyeing the bookshelf in the corner of the room when Harry discreetly casts a privacy ward and approaches him.

"Nott, let's talk."

Later that night, when he comes into his and Draco's new room, the blond looks at him confused before speaking.

"Harry? What are you doing here? I thought I was sharing a room with Theo?"

"He asked me to trade," Harry lies.

"And you said yes?"

"Well, I would rather room with you than with Zabini, wouldn't I?"

Draco's smile in return makes the glares he gets from Nott for the rest of the week worth it.

Something that surprises him from this timeline is the fact that Draco Malfoy, little blond menace that he is, is popular.

Harry has mixed feelings about that.

On one hand, he gets it. He created a whole dark time travel ritual for a chance to get him back. Draco is adorable, his family is rich, right now he's best friends with the Boy Who Lived, and Harry is there to stop him from putting his foot in his mouth four out of five times. Which means he comes off as likable most times. People like him.

That is also the part he hates.

Saying Harry is a possessive bastard would be an understatement. Having grown up with nothing to call his own for ten years left a mark on him. Makes him cling with teeth and nails to his possessions, His father's cloak, his brooms, Hedwig, Draco. He is sure by this point every slytherin has noticed that the two of them are rarely seen without each other, but he's about ready to snap someone's neck if they keep turning them to steal a look at Draco.

Thankfully (and he can't believe he's about to think this) Pansy Parkinson exists.

Pansy is annoying, there's no denying that. She wanted to throw him to the wolves during the battle of Hogwarts in his past life, and he's not sure she ever stopped believing in pureblood supremacy. She also has a crush on Draco.

She has to thank the fact that Draco is utterly gay that Harry hasn't done anything severe against her.

Her friends, Millicent Bullstrode and Tracey Davis are somewhat nice. They fade into the background most times, but Draco likes spending time with them. It works well for Harry since it means that he doesn't have to worry about anyone stealing from his plate while he focuses on doing something else, like setting up a trap for Quirrell.

Besides, if one of the girls is foolish enough to try anything funny with Draco. Well, good luck to them. They'll need it when Harry reacts.

The situation with Quirrell is tricky. It would be easy to simply recreate the circumstances of his first life, and he has to, to a point. But just because he can't get rid of Voldemort permanently yet, it doesn't mean he can't have his fun with it.

At first he sticks to asking convoluted questions about possession during his classes to make him sweat, he enjoys as he struggles to fake his stutter through the answers. Then he sets the twins on him and tries not to laugh too hard when their pranks just happen to play out in Snape's proximity.

Because even if he's in his house now, the man will find a way to pin it on him and give him detention. Some things never change. Snape's still a bastard.

The sorting doesn't change most of the Weasleys' opinions on him. The twins talk to him and tell him about their favorite pranks, and the letters from Molly and Arthur come steadily, but the youngest Weasley boy is still pretty prejudiced against the house of the 'slimy snakes', as he puts it.

Young Ron Weasley is almost as much of a menace as the young Draco Malfoy from his original timeline, so it's not a big surprise when in Halloween he hears from Pansy Parkinson that he upset Hermione Granger so badly she's been seen crying in the girls' bathroom all through the day.

He hasn't had time to befriend Hermione yet. He asks Neville about her sometimes, whenever the two of them get a chance to speak. Something that is happening more frequently ever since Harry stopped him from falling from his broom during flying class. Draco gets adorable pissy whenever they hang out.

He doesn't do anything about Hermione for most of the day, but then Dumbledore announces that Quirrell's classes are canceled for the rest of the week after the teacher fell ill with a case of pustules all over his body. He sneaks a glance at Fred and George, who wink at him in return. When the fest is almost over he sighs and starts to fix a plate of food and dessert before standing up and leaving the great hall.

"Where are you going?" Draco asks when he sees him start to leave.

Harry keeps walking as he speaks. "Granger hasn't come to the fest, and you heard Parkinson earlier, I don't want her to miss dinner just because Ron was being a prat."

"Why not?" Draco asks childishly.

"I don't want her to go hungry," he says simply.

"No—I mean, why do you care? she's just a mud—"

"Draco," Harry interrupts him, voice colder than any other time he's spoken to him.

Draco's mouth snaps shut.

Harry turns around to look at him. They're the same height, he notices. A big difference from his past life, where Draco had always towered over him. He is now almost done with his potions treatment, only the barest hints of his previous malnourishment remaining on his body.

Sometimes he forgets that Draco grew up thinking of pretty much anyone who isn't his family as inferior, and it's on moments like this that it hits him all of a sudden. He knows the blond was pretty isolated during his childhood. His main company in his giant manor were the house elves who catered to his every whim, and the sons of his parents' "colleagues" who were told to play nice with the Malfoy heir. He's never had anyone to defy him or make him question his beliefs.

Harry will not let him grow up into a bigot.

"You know that I'm a halfblood, right?" He tells him.

Draco nods slowly. "But—"

"Meaning," Harry interrupts yet again. "That my mother was muggleborn."

Draco smartly doesn't say anything.

"So I want you to think really hard about what you almost said, and after that, look me in the eyes and see if you would repeat it."

"I— She's— Why do you care about her? You're not even friends!" Draco moans.

"She helped Neville back in the Hogwarts Express, remember? and I'm friends with Neville, so this will be me paying it back, in a way." He explains.

Draco pouts, but follows along when he walks.

"C'mon, I've heard she's a right swot too. I'm sure you two can bond over that." Harry teases.

"Hey!"

He smirks.

No trolls sneak into the castle that night, but Draco does end up bonding with Hermione after getting into a debate about charms that Harry not so accidentally starts. The rest of the term they develop something akin to a friendship, and Draco begrudgingly admits that he was right. Harry plans to never let him live it down.

The letter finally comes a few days before the winter break.

Dear Harry, Sirius says.

I know you've heard about me, but just in case you haven't, my name is Sirius Black, and I'm your godfather.

I've been imprisoned in Azkaban for a crime I didn't commit for the last ten years, and it's just recently that I got a trial and had my name cleared.

There's so many things I wish to tell you. I was supposed to take care of you after your parents died. Your dad was my best friend for a long time, and I failed him, I failed you, too. And for that I'm eternally sorry.

I'd like to get to know you, if that's okay with you. I'm staying at one of my family's properties in London with a friend of mine. Remus Lupin is his name, and if you have no other plans for the holidays we'd like to invite you to come spend Christmas with us, and give us a chance to get to know the wonderful boy I'm sure you are.

It's okay if you don't want to, I don't want you to feel pressured into accepting, but it would make for a wonderful Christmas present to see you again.

Love, Sirius Black

PS: Remus helped me write most of this letter, so if it feels too stuffy you can blame him.

He's coming back from the owlery  after sending a response, the sky outside the school is already darkening and he has about twenty minutes before curfew starts. That's when he feels the tendrils of someone's magic wrap around him. A compulsion charm, he thinks.

He lets himself be walked around the castle, following the directions these fake instincts are giving him.

He's been letting Dumbledore do that. He follows along whatever breadcrumbs the headmaster puts in his path. Smiles and nods when he stops him for a small chat in the hallways.

It confirms certain things he already figured out.

When the compulsion stops he's in an empty classroom. Desks covered with dust fill the place, and right in the middle of it all there's a giant white sheet of fabric covering something twice as big as Harry.

He uncovers the mirror of Erised slowly. The mirage in it isn't as appealing now that he understands the artifact's inner workings. He wonders if Dumbledore knows it was made with dark magic.

He can feel the slow drain on his magic from the mirror. It's barely there, but Harry's had to acquaint himself with his magic core to pull some of the stunts he's done over the years. He notices.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. It seems you've found the mirror of Erised."

Harry doesn't flinch at the sudden voice, or look away from his distorted reflection in front of him, but he does notice that he's been looking at the mirror for longer than he wanted to.

"What does it do?" He asks, with something akin to wonder in his voice, even though he already knows the answer.

"What do you think it does?" Dumbledore counters.

"It shows you what you want?" He wonders out loud.

Dumbledore caresses his beard as he answers. "Perhaps a rather simplistic way to put it, but yes. This mirror shows you nothing less than what you desire most in the world."

"Woah," He fakes.

"What do you see when you look into it, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asks, and Harry knows exactly what to say.

"My family," he admits truthfully. It's not Lily and James Potter he sees, though. Not this time. He sees himself as older in the mirror, or rather, his real age. Draco is at his side, long hair plaited beautifully and framing his face, he's resting his head on Harry's shoulder while they each hold a baby in their arms. A pair of twins with blond hair and green eyes.

His Draco had gushed about kids before... before. He loved playing with Teddy, and had admitted once he wanted a big family, having always felt lonely in the emptiness of Malfoy Manor. Harry would have made it happen for them. Hermione had read it was possible for a wizard to impregnate another wizard if the sire was powerful enough, and Harry had power in spades. He would have given Draco a family that rivaled the Weasley brood. He would have given him the world on a silver platter had he asked.

But his Draco was too good. He'd grown into such a beautiful man, both inside and out. When they learned the truth about the dark marks Harry knew he was going to lose him.

He hadn't accepted it. He threw himself into his research. Mastered both the lightest and darkest of arts in search of a solution, turned to forbidden runes and illegal rituals for it, but in the end it hadn't mattered. Their time ran out and one day he came home to an empty kitchen. None of Draco's favorite records playing out. No mess in the kitchen from him trying to make dinner.

Just silence.

He had known before he entered the bedroom what he was going to find, and he stood in front of the closed door for what seemed like an eternity.

When he walked in he wanted to believe that Draco was just sleeping. Wanted to believe that the vial in his hand was just Dreamless Sleep, and the letter on his lap was just a report he fell asleep writing.

But he wasn't that lucky.

"What do you see when you look into it, sir?" He's barely able to keep the anger out of his voice.

Dumbledore hums.

"I see myself, with a new pair of nice socks." The headmaster lies.

Harry doesn't say anything in response.

There is a piece of parchment he keeps hidden inside his trunk at all times. It's even deeper than his box with Draco's letters. The parchment contains a list full of names. All still alive and most of them walking free. Every single marked Death Eater is on that list. Cornelius Fudge, Dolores Umbridge and many other ministry officials he knows for a fact accepted bribes from Death Eaters and let cruel men and women roam the world free of consequences are on that list.

Every single person on that list has been marked for death by Harry's hand.

Most days, Albus Dumbledore's name is also on that list.

"It doesn't do us well to dwell on dreams, my boy. The mirror will be moved to its new location during the winter break. Are you staying in the castle?"

Harry shakes his head. "My godfather invited me to spend it with him," he answers.

He's never hated Albus Dumbledore as much as he did when Draco died. He didn't hate him when he raised him as a pig to slaughter, or when he strung him and his friends along for one of his orchestrated adventures, all for the greater good. He doesn't agree with those choices, but he understands them, in a morbid way. Draco hated that he did.

What Harry still doesn't understand is why someone with all that power refuses to do good with it. He is satisfied with doing the bare minimum and anything other than that isn't worth the effort. He has the power to do something about all the free Death Eaters. He's had years to do something to minimize all the prejudice and hatred in the wizarding word. He could accept the Minister's seat and take an active approach, he could use his many positions to take a stand against it. He could use his position as headmaster to stop kids from wanting to grow up into Death Eaters.

And he doesn't. For someone who likes to make a distinction between the right thing and the easy thing he sure likes to choose the latter.

He sits in his high chair inside Hogwarts and lets the hate fester in the wizarding world, he lets people bribe their way out of sentences. He lets kids bully each other based on their blood status and their houses. He lets them grow up unprepared and uneducated. Ready to be taken advantage of by the first opportunistic madman with a way with words.

He let Draco slowly destroy himself and only offered a way out in the last possible second, when it wouldn't have mattered.

That, he can't forgive.

"I think it's time for both of us to go to bed. Have a merry Christmas, my boy," Dumbledore says.

"I hope you get a really nice pair of socks this year, sir," Harry answers. That's as much of a good thing as he's willing to wish on the man.

When he turns his back on the man to go back to his dorm, he doesn't look back once.

Chapter Text

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are waiting for him on the platform right after he says his goodbyes to Draco.

"Hi, Harry," Sirius says when he sees Harry, voice filled with wonder.

"Er, hi," he answers. "Sirius, right?"

The man nods wordlessly, eyes still shining.

"And you must be Remus?"

Remus' smile is bright when he extends a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you again," he says. "It's been quite a few years since we last saw you."

"I'll bet."

They stand awkwardly for a few seconds, before Sirius opens his mouth. "You look just like—"

"My dad?" Harry interrupts.

"—your grandmother, actually," Sirius finishes.

"What?"

"You have the same nose, and Merlin, your hair is just like hers," Sirius explains. "It looks so soft. James' was always a mess. He couldn't go half a second without running his hands through it."

Oh.

He supposes he's right. No one has actually told Harry that he looks like his dad for a while now. He knows he looks nothing like he did when he and Sirius first met in his past life. He doesn't wear glasses anymore and he isn't too skinny or way too short for his age. He's started taking care of his hair at Draco's insistence, styling it to showcase his scar instead of hiding it under bangs, and even the way he stands is different, years of auror training carrying over to this new timeline.

The same is true of Sirius, in a way. He's different, no longer the crazed escaped convict he was in Harry's past life, just skin, bones, and manic determination. He's been receiving healing from the ministry for months now, and it shows.

Remus clears his throat when neither of them says anything for a few moments, too busy taking the sight of the other in.

"Would you tell me about them? My family?" Harry asks, more genuinely than he would ask anyone else.

"Perhaps Sirius will be able to tell you after he gets you home," Remus says. "but there's a crowd starting to form."

Harry blinks and looks around. People keep whispering and pointing at them, but that just comes with the territory of being the Boy-Who-Lived and the newly released Lord Black. What nags at him it's a completely different thing. "You won't be joining us?" he asks Remus.

"Ah, not today, Harry," he says apologetically. "I'm afraid I have an overnight compromise, but I promise that I'll be back in a day or two. I just couldn't miss the chance to see you as soon as possible."

"Oh, okay."

He leaves soon after that, just after having a hushed argument with Sirius that Harry suspects has to do with spending tonight's full moon alone. He wonders how long it'll be until he can let them know that he knows. He'll need to come up with an excuse for that, but with the way they're looking at Harry, they'll probably believe whatever he says.

Grimmauld Place is as dark and gloomy as he remembers it being. Not as dirty, though.

"We wanted to hire a few curse breakers to clean the place up, but Kreacher threw a tantrum and cleaned the place overnight himself," Sirius explains. "Well, he tried to clean, at least."

"Kreacher?"

"The house elf, little nasty thing that roams over the place and insults anyone he crosses. The place still isn't perfect, but I want to get a new house anyway so this is only temporary."

"How big is this place?" He asks as he walks around.

"Nowadays there's three floors, but there are at least two that are hiding. This house's never liked me much." Sirius admits.

They walk around the house while Sirius does his best impression of a muggle tour guide, and Harry finds himself laughing often at Sirius' sharp tongue.

"—and that," Sirius whispers, pointing at a stretch of wall covered by a curtain, "is the portrait of my dear mother, Walburga Black. Trust me, you don't want to wake her up, she's a nightmare."

"If you don't like her, why don't you take it off?"

He sighs. "She used a permanent sticking charm to make sure no one could, I still haven't found a countercharm."

"Can't you take the whole wall off?" Harry offers. It had worked when Harry tried it in his timeline.

"Huh?"

"If it's not a foundation wall you can always take a sledge hammer to it." Harry explains offhandedly. "Mr. Weasley explained House magic to me while I was staying at the Burrow and it should be okay, I think."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Well, now you have." Sirius grins.

Spending time with his godfather is nice. It helps that the man clearly has no idea what kids are like so Harry doesn't have to pretend to be his body's age.

They talk about Hogwarts and the Weasleys and experimenting with magic, and it soon becomes clear to Harry that Sirius could have been an unstoppable force if he never had gone to Azkaban.

His godfather is brilliant. And maybe a part of that is the small child inside of Harry that can't help but idolize the first man who offered him a home, but hearing Sirius explain the inner workings of some of his more elaborate pranks makes it clear that it's not just that.

It's a hard thing to experience, because it's also clear that Sirius is not entirely there. He has moments where he stares off into space, shivering despite the high temperatures he keeps inside the house. His memory is spotty in places, and sometimes he slips and calls Harry James without noticing.

It would hurt more if he didn't also call him Reggie sometimes. Or maybe it would just hurt differently.

He's been exposed to dementors before, but he figures his and Sirius experiences are two completely different things. He knows how it feels when those creatures are just seconds away from taking your soul, but he can't imagine living in a small cell surrounded by them at all times, depriving him of any and all happy memories. The thought of his godfather being in that situation for years because of the negligence of the wizarding world infuriates him. And soon he has to excuse himself to his room before he explodes in anger.

Sirius wouldn't admit it, but he looks relieved when Harry leaves for his bedroom. If Harry is angry about his godfather's situation, he must be exhausted.

He stares at the ceiling for a long time, watching as the stars painted in the ceiling glimmer with magic, and once he's certain Sirius is asleep he calls for Kreacher to come to him.

"Young nasty half blood is calling? Oh, what would mistress say if she could see a nasty halfblood in Master Regulus' bed, her heart would break—"

Harry sighs as the house elf continues his tirade.

"Regulus Black left you a task before he died." He states. "To destroy a locket he died getting."

Kreacher freezes, and he turns his hysterical gaze on Harry. "And how is young nasty halfblood knowing that!? Kreacher never told! Kreacher couldn't finish his task!"

Harry is glad his bedroom is soundproof, Kreacher's screeches could have woken up the entire neighborhood.

"That doesn't matter." He says. "What matters is that I can help you fulfill Regulus' last order, as long as you promise to never tell anyone about it."

It makes the house elf pause. "How can filthy half blood be helping?"

Line, hook, and sinker, he thinks.

He explains his plan to Kreacher, who doesn't seem to care much about the specifics of it as long as it gets the job done. It's not overly complicated, he just needs to secure the elf's collaboration.

"What is Kreacher needing to do?" He asks with determination.

"I need a wand, do you know if there's any in the house?" He asks. He doesn't intend to cast any truly dangerous spells wandlessly. If he's going to do this he needs both the power and finesse his body alone is incapable of yet.

"Mistress is keeping the old wands in a box in the attic. Kreacher will be looking for one to help Master Regulus."

"Thank you Kreacher, I'm sure Regulus would be glad."

It's obviously the right thing to say, because Kreacher straightens up and pops away with what Harry thinks might be a smile on his face.

Once he has both the locket and the new wand in his possession he uses a potions knife to carve runes in the latter. The space he has to work with is limited but he manages to make it so that it won't activate the Trace despite his status as minor. He wouldn't want to alert the ministry about what he's about to do.

Carving runes is second nature to him by now. He's been using them for almost everything since he learned about their uses a few years after the battle of Hogwarts. In his robes to make them immune to common spells, in his favorite mug in his office to check for potions and poisons, in his own body when he started to find his own strength lacking. He can't wait to finish growing so he can draw them back. He's been feeling somewhat naked without them. 

Once he's done with the new wand, he gives instructions to Kreacher to apparate them to a small rural town near London, where they make their way to a small cottage hidden under several layers of muggle-repelling wards.

He tries to be discreet as he approaches, although that's not entirely necessary. He knows that only one person lives here, and he's too comfortable to notice a small boy breaking in. Especially one that does it by picking the front door's lock by hand instead of using magic.

"Donovan McCall, fifty four years old," He tells Kreacher, grabbing a picture of the man with his family from a shelf. "A marked Death Eater who escaped an Azkaban sentence by bribing the right ministry officials. He lost all his wealth in the process and exiled himself to this old family house in shame."

It had taken months to track him the first time around, but that is also the reason Harry chose him as his first target now. No one will notice he's gone for a long time, and when they do, no trace of the cursed fire will remain in place. It'll be an unsolved mystery for years to come.

He puts the locket carefully on the floor. He won't even have to open it for this. A small mercy.

"Have you ever used a wand, Kreacher?" He asks.

"Nasty half blood master asks stupid questions," the elf grumbles. "Kreacher has never used a wizard's wand. Kreacher is a good elf."

"Would you like to give it a go?" Harry asks. "Be a bad elf for once? No one will punish you. You could destroy the locket yourself, get some revenge on the people that got Regulus killed."

He lets the house elf think it over, but ultimately he says "No. Kreacher will only be watching."

"Alright," Harry shrugs. "Make sure you don't miss this."

And then, he casts.

The next morning, there is no article in the Daily Prophet about burned houses or dead Death Eaters, but Sirius does complain about Kreacher smelling like smoke, and he looks confused when the house elf starts calling Harry "Master Half-Blood" without any ounce of insult in his voice.

"He must have good taste," Harry jokes, and they move on with their day.

Remus comes back after lunch, looking like death warmed over, and for those few days, Harry gets to know the two remaining marauders all over again.

He goes to bed early, leaving Sirius and Remus to spend the time alone they so obviously need, and during the nights he has Kreacher apparate him away to different places. He's not out to kill anyone else yet, but he does go to a few questionable shops to buy some magical ingredients that may not be entirely legal.

He's spent quite some time watching the professors table during dinner, and after a talk with Sirius and studying some of his memories he's come to realize that none of them ever casts detecting charms or checks for poisons in the food they eat. They make it too easy for him to scheme.

The morning of Christmas he wakes up to an overgrown black dog lapping up his face, and Harry has to resist his first instinct of reaching under his pillow for his wand and hexing its bollocks off. Sirius probably won't appreciate being umpromptly neutered.

There are plenty of gifts under the tree they set up. He immediately spots a familiarly long package, and Harry just knows he's going to end up sneaking a broom into Hogwarts come January. They make the most of the morning opening them all and trading stories of the people they came from.

The first gift Harry opens is Draco's, naturally.

He opens the small box signed in his fancy handwriting to find an expensive looking set of potions knives. Harry smiles at the intricate details in the hilt and the runes etched in the blades. They'll never need to be sharpened and only he as the first person to imbue his magic into them will be able to use them. He doubts Snape will let him get away with using such extravagant instruments in class, but they will come in handy when Harry starts brewing potions outside of it.

"A Malfoy?" Sirius asks when Harry tells him who its from.

"He's different," Harry says, then thinks about it and adds."I'm working on it."

Sirius snorts. "Good luck with that, pup."

Sirius gets a bottle of firewhiskey from professor McGonagall, and he wastes no time in getting three glasses to share a drink between them. Remus looks at him disapprovingly but Sirius claims that it's the godfather's prerogative to give his godson his first drink. Harry only gets a finger of it while they get a full serving, and they all laugh when it makes Harry burp out a fireball.

Remus gets the least gifts from the three of them, and Harry thinks it must be hard living the way he has until now. Too afraid to stay in a single place or to form any meaningful connection. In moments when Harry is feeling petty, he thinks that's what he gets for never looking out for Harry, for not even visiting for those ten years he spent in the Dursleys "care."

It never lasts long, but it's something that he thinks about often enough to be conscious of. It's one of the main reasons he was able to bond faster with Sirius in his past life. Despite the fact that he was half out of his mind, to Harry it felt like he cared more for him than Remus did. To say Remus' vacillating interest in him hadn't hurt would be a lie.

But this Remus is here now, and that has to count for something. He's there to hand Harry his gifts and he smiles when Harry does a dramatic reading of the letter that came with Ron's gift. It's an apology for ignoring him after he was sorted into Slytherin and Harry would bet anything that Molly Weasley was involved in the writing of it.

When they ask him if he sent his friends anything he lies and says that he sent chocolate frogs and sweets to all of them. It's almost true. He did send that to the Weasleys, Hermione, Neville, and the few Slytherin he's befriended, but he also spent an exorbitant amount of money getting Draco a silver bracelet with green emeralds that matches the one he's currently wearing.

It wasn't an entirely selfless gift. He also included a little something for himself in it: A monitor charm that he modified himself to be undetectable.

The charm is nothing too invasive. It only serves two main functions: It points Harry's bracelet to its counterpart general location, and it allows him to feel Draco's heartbeat through the inlaid gem. He's been drawing comfort from the rhythm of Draco's heart since he started wearing his gift about half an hour ago.

Only Draco's bracelet also has another spell on it. Nothing too big, just a little something to... discourage him from wanting to take it off. He'll be able to overcome it if he really wants to someday, but for now Harry rests happy knowing that he has a direct link to Draco should he ever need it.

After he opens Neville's and Hermione's gifts (a potted plant and a book, respectively) he's left with only an unmarked parcel that he recognizes immediately from both its appearance and its magical signature.

Sirius and Remus stare open mouthed when Harry reveals his father's invisibility cloak, and they frown when Harry reads the message from Dumbledore, unaware that the headmaster never actually signed with his name.

"Why did he have it?" He asks them.

"I— I don't know, pup," Sirius says. "This should have gone to your family vault after your parents' deaths. I know James never lent it out like that, not even to us."

It's a grim moment in an otherwise bright day, but it passes quickly, and it serves Harry's purpose. To plant a seed of doubt in their minds. It won't do much by itself, but if he can get them to distrust the headmaster, if he can get them to pick his side when he finally reveals all his cards. Then he'll be satisfied.

"Anyway," he says. "Why don't we test out my new broom?"

They quickly agree to his suggestion, the headmaster put to the back of their minds.

All in all, the holidays are great.

Chapter Text

When he goes back to Hogwarts, Harry waits only a few days before going through the gauntlet and stealing the stone from the mirror. He makes sure to not set off the alarm charms left by Dumbledore, his cloak getting more use than the old man ever intended. The challenges aren't anything impressive now that he isn't actually eleven years old, and he still doesn't have any desire for the stone, so he's able to get it out of the mirror with no problem.

As he stands there with the philosopher's stone in one hand and his shrunken broom in the other he can't help but notice how very anticlimactic it all feels.

Is this truly the best the professors of Hogwarts can do? Five challenges that three first years were able to beat with little difficulty. It feels like he's missing something. What would have happened if Harry, Ron, and Hermione hadn't gone after Quirrell last time? He doubts Voldemort wouldn't have figured the mirror eventually. He could curse his name as much as he wanted, but to call him incompetent would be foolish.

Just taking the entire mirror away from Hogwarts and finding someone who didn't want to use the stone would have sufficed. They would have had to deal with a living Voldemort three whole years before schedule and Harry doesn't have to be a genius to realize that way more people would have died.

Dumbledore plays a dangerous game, and it's only thanks to luck that he somehow managed to come out on top in Harry's past life. Even then, it had all been only temporary.

The crack his magic makes around him stops him from thinking about it. He sighs as he's forced to calm himself down. He's always been a powerful wizard, and that was while he had a piece of Voldemort's soul leeching magic from him. Now that that isn't a concern, his magic has been growing at an abnormally fast rate, and sometimes it slips out of him.

He can't go back to the dorm like this.

Luckily, his cloak gives him the freedom to wander around he clearly needs, and with only Dumbledore aware that it even exists, he doesn't hesitate to sneak out of the castle under its guise.

He makes his way to the edge of the forbidden forest quietly, running his hand through the trunks of the trees he passes by. Soon Quirrell will start coming here to hunt unicorns.

Harry doesn't particularly feel like letting him do that.

From one of his pockets, he brings out a dull knife before finally letting his magic run wild. The knife eagerly takes his magic as he pushes in, making the blade sharp. With very precise motions he brings it to the trunk of the nearest tree and carves a rune array on it, near the bottom and small enough that it won't be seen easily.

By itself it won't do much, but if he does enough of them they will redirect anyone that tries to make their way deep into the forest and turn them right back out before they realize it. He came up with the runic sequence all by himself in the future, to fill a specific need, so neither Quirrell nor Voldemort has a way to know about it, or how to undo the effect.

He repeats the carving process with the next tree, and then again, and again, until he can start to feel the wear on his magic. When he looks around, the castle is far away, but the stars above are bright.

After that, he keeps on living his life. He spends some time with his friends, even more with Draco, trying to savor every moment with him.

It's easy to make time for the blond. Harry doesn't have to put much time or effort into studying when it's all stuff he already knows. Not to mention the fact that the Hogwarts curriculum is so terribly underwhelming.

He was told once that this is the best school of magic in the world. If that wasn't a lie, Harry feels very sad about the state of the magical education systems around the world.

History of Magic. Divination. Potions. Defense Against The Dark Arts. One third of the classes taught at Hogwarts are laughable at best, and that fact is very easy to see outside of the walls of the castle.

One history professor who doesn't even know who he's teaching, let alone what year it is. Two that are only kept for political reasons, but are terrible at their jobs, and countless that come and go because of a jinx no one's ever bothered to lift.

He can understand Snape's position. It's not like the man wants to be here. He just got stuck as Dumbledore's lackey after he realized that becoming a Death Eater was actually the dumbest decision he could've made as not only a halfblood, but a man supposedly in love with a muggleborn.

But just because he understands it doesn't mean he sympathizes with the man. Harry might be willing to forgive him for being a generally unpleasant person, if he at least bothered to do his job.

But he doesn't.

Potions are dangerous, and more than once he's been witness or cause of a cauldron exploding in class, and yet somehow Snape comes out of every accident untouched while kids like Neville end up in the infirmary time after time.

There's also the fact that bloody Voldemort himself is residing in the castle and his servant would have released a mountain troll in it if the twins hadn't worked their magic, and it's better not to mention all the shit that went down in Harry's past life.

Best magic school in the world his arse.

It's not like he hadn't expected it to happen eventually, but somehow he's still caught off guard when Draco finally confronts him one night in February.

"Why haven't you been sleeping in the dorms?" Draco asks from his bed, still wearing his pajamas and fully awake.

It makes Harry stop on the spot. He can't tell him about his efforts against Quirrell, or his incursions into the kitchens, especially when he's adding ingredients to the foods from under his cloak.

Thinking quickly, he asks "Can you keep a secret?"

Draco's eyes shine. "Yes!" he says excitedly, before correcting himself with a more calmed tone "I mean, yes, of course."

Harry chuckles. "Alright, I'll show you," he says, going towards the door. "Come with me."

Draco hesitates. "But— it's after curfew, what if we get caught?" He asks, looking adorably worried.

"We won't," Harry reassures him as they walk to the common room.

"How do you know?" Draco pouts.

Harry just extends a hand. "Do you trust me?"

Draco hesitates, but he takes it. Harry beams.

"Yes," Draco whispers.

Harry doesn't let go of his hand as they walk through the halls of the school. He makes sure to take only hallways without portraits, or ones he knows will be asleep by now. He'd rather not have to pull out the cloak and give away its secrets unless absolutely necessary.

They only stop on the seventh floor, right in front of the painting of Barnabas the Barmy and the dancing trolls. Draco looks at him skeptically.

"Harry, there's nothing here."

Harry just smirks, walking back and forth in front of the wall three time with a mental image of what he wants. Draco gasps as a door appears in the empty wall.

"What is this?" he asks.

Harry opens the door for him, inviting him inside. "Draco Malfoy, welcome to the Room of Requirement," he says.

In front of them the room seems as big as a quidditch pitch, the floor under their feet is soft, just as are the light above them, it makes everything around them feel like a warm dream, exactly as Harry asked.

"Sirius told me about this place when he gifted me the broom" Harry lies, his voice low. He's standing behind Draco now, just close enough to smell the mint scent of his shampoo.

He can feel Draco tensing slightly, so he adds. "He made me promise not to tell anyone, but you're special, I think."

The back of Draco's neck reddens at that.

"What do you do when you come here?"

"Remember when you tried to sneak your broom in your truck and your mum stopped you because she doesn't want you breaking the rules?"

"Yes, I do remember," Draco huffs.

"Well, it turns out that Sirius isn't that big of fan of following rules," he says, pulling out something from his pocket.

Draco stares with wide eyes. "Is— Is that?"

"A nimbus 2000? Yes, it is."

He lets Draco examine it as much as he wants, and they take turns flying on it, letting out shouts of joy as they do.

"I wish we could fly together," Draco says breathlessly, and Harry doesn't tell him that he could probably ask the room for another broom and it would give it to him.

Instead, he mounts on the broom and offers his hand to Draco. "Who says we can't?" He asks.

Getting two people into a single broom is tricky, but they're still small enough for it to not be too uncomfortable, and he can ignore the discomfort in exchange of Draco's arms wrapping around him, trusting him to not let him fall.

It's all oh so familiar. If only they had fire.

Harry starts slow at first, getting used to the extra weight the broom's carrying, but soon gains enough confidence to fly fast, even going as far as pulling a deep dive before pulling back up merely meters away from the floor.

The punch on the arm he gets for that is nothing compared to the exhilarated blush and the messy hair on Draco. They will have to do this again.

"You have to promise me not to tell anyone about the room, it's our special place, okay?" He tells Draco when they're back in the room, both having slipped into the same bed somehow.

"I promise," Draco says easily.

Harry smiles, pleased by his answer.

They don't use it much, because there's only so many times one can disappear before people start taking notice, but the Room of Requirements becomes their little oasis in Hogwarts. A place for only them, Harry and Draco, as it should be.

Quirell keeps looking worse and worse by the day, and Harry is filled with morbid satisfaction as he witnesses the decline of his health.

By now the professor must have realized that trying to hunt in the forbidden forest yields no results, and he can't simply order unicorn blood by owl, it being an illegal substance. The potions Harry's been sneaking into his meals won't be helping him, either. The doses of forgetfulness potion and carelessness concoction piling up slowly but surely, destroying his mind a drop at a time.

Quirell is running out of time and he knows it. He'll make a move for the stone soon, and Harry will be ready for him.

When the professor starts missing classes due to sickness, Harry convinces Draco to start a study group with Hermione and Neville, under the guise of not wanting to fall behind on the subject.

Things with Ron have been better since christmas, and the redhead has befriended Hermione and Neville all by himself, as evidenced by the fact that he also joins the study group some days. Draco is annoyed by having to spend time with a Weasley, but Harry has a handle on that.

The five of them spending time together like this is a scene that anyone from Harry's past life would be shocked at, but in this here and now it's becoming commonplace.

A part of him still can't believe that he managed to pull this off, that somehow his Potter luck struck again and allowed the insane ritual he concocted to work.

He can never go back to being a carefree child because his life never allowed him to be one in the first place, but when sees Ron and Draco grumbling at each other, or when he's explaining the basics of potions to Neville, or when Hermione's ranting after he spends the entire afternoon fucking around instead of studying he can pretend that he's just a normal boy living a normal life.

He's surprised he manages to live a normal life all the way through their final exams, but then a few days before the school year ends, he feels the alarm he left in the third floor's corridor activate and any illusion of normalcy shatters.

When he gets to the last room Quirrell is kneeling in front of the mirror, turban left on the floor. His face, or rather faces, have turned into something less than human.

He doesn't know how much of the thing in front of him is Voldemort and how much of it is Quirrell, the edges differentiating them starting to blur.

"You know, I thought Voldemort would be more impressive, but I'm just grossed out at the moment," Harry jokes.

"Potter, is this your doing!?" Quirrell screeches.

"Nope, sorry to disappoint but it's all Dumbledore," Mostly. The headmaster did set up the obstacle course, after all. "I followed you when I saw you sneaking around, I knew there was something wrong with you. You really need to work on your stealth skills."

Quirrell points his wand at him, shooting a wordless spell that Harry manages to dodge. "Where is the stone?" he asks

"Well, I'd assume it's inside the mirror isn't it?" Harry quips.

Voldemort casts at Harry again and again, and Harry just keeps dodging without trying to fight back until Quirrell is panting and out of breath.

"Just come here, boy!" he yells.

"If you insist," Harry answers, before breaking into a run towards him.

The man— the men— the thing in front of him is too sluggish to react properly, and soon Harry is tackling him to the ground, straddling him and pushing his hands into Quirrell's face, letting his magic out and watching in delight as their faces start to melt.

Their screams only egg Harry on, who uses his thumbs to push into the sockets of the first pair of eyes he finds. He can feel Voldemort's magic trying to push back, but without Harry's blood he can't even touch him without suffering terribly.

The screams die out soon after, luckily for Harry who can feel his consciousness start to slip. The last thing he sees is Quirrell's skull as it melts under him. Harry is smiling when the world goes black.

Worth it , he thinks.

Draco is in the infirmary when he wakes up, looking like an angel dressed in white. "Hey," he says.

"What happened?" Harry asks, voice groggy with disuse.

"You tell me," Draco huffs. "One day you disappear and keep me waiting in the library for hours and the next thing I know they have you on a magically induced coma!"

"How long have I been out?" He asks.

"Three days."

Good, just as before, then.

"Now, will you tell me what happened?" Draco pleads.

"I would also like to hear your story, my boy" The voice of the headmaster butts in.

Dumbledore is looking at him like a kind grandfather, but his eyes twinkle as Harry speaks. Harry makes sure to look directly at them, and when he feels the probe of a legilimency attack, he shows the headmaster pieces of his memory from the encounter with Quirrel of his last life.

Draco doesn't look pleased at the interruption, but he doesn't say anything, clearly also wanting to hear the story. He clings to Harry as he tries his best to recreate this conversation from the one of his past life, and by the end Draco looks pale, and his hands are shaking slightly.

"Are you okay?" He asks the blond when Dumbledore finally leaves

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" His voice is tiny, Harry has to make an effort to hear him.

"I'm fine, nothing hurts or anything."

"Did— was the dark lord really there?" Draco asks with a shaky voice.

"Yeah. Reckon he wanted to finish the job. He looked gross."

Draco frowns.

"Are you really okay?"

"I think I will be," Harry answers.

That night when he comes back to the great hall his Gryffindors run straight to them, and Harry just barely manages not to fall on his arse when the twins hug-tackle him.

"What happened?" they all ask.

Draco clings extremely tight onto him while Harry tells the story yet again.

He makes sure to keep an ear open around the other students from that night. He wants to know what the rumors about him say. It clearly proves useful, because no one is mentioning The Dark Lord, or He Who Must Not Be Named, You Know Who, or even Voldemort. As far as the rest of the school is concerned, Quirrell kidnapped Harry and then ran away from the school, no one even knows that Harry killed him. Harry is more than okay with that.

The school year ends like that, and before he knows it they're all boarding the Hogwarts Express to their homes.

Sirius and Remus are waiting for him in King's Station near the Weasley family, noticeably far away from the Malfoys. Draco's entire demeanor changes when he sees his parents. His back straightens and his chin goes up. Harry doesn't fail to notice that that is the same reaction he has when Ron enters a room, although the reasons are most likely different.

"Will you write?" the blond asks.

"If I dont write in a week, assume I've been kidnapped" He jokes, and then they're saying their goodbyes.

He tells himself it hurts only a little to part ways.

Harry makes his way to his godfather, accepting all the hugs from him and the Weasleys. He's spending the summer with Sirius, now that the man has officially filed for custody of him.

They're going to Grimmauld, because the wards there are practically impenetrable, and it works well enough for Harry, who already knows how to sneak out of the place.

"Are you ready for the summer?" Sirius asks when they leave the station.

"Oh, you have no idea," Harry answers.

Chapter Text

Harry isn't surprised when no letters come for him during the summer.

The new bill about dark artifacts just got passed, and Lucius Malfoy has made his displeasure about it very public in an interview for The Daily Prophet. Meaning that he is currently planning to get rid of many items in Malfoy Manor, including Tom Riddle's diary. Of course Dobby would try to interfere.

He could easily order Kreacher to stop the Malfoy elf from meddling, but he wants to let it play out. The more Dobby gets involved, the more grateful he'll be when Harry eventually frees him, and a loyal house elf has proven to him more useful than an army at times.

Draco might get mad when he realizes someone is blocking their communication, but Harry still sends a letter every week hoping it'll placate him somewhat.

In Grimmauld Place Remus has taken to teaching Harry defensive magic in an attempt to exhaust his new excess of magic. He seems delighted at Harry's innate understanding of most spells he tries to teach him, the fact that Harry already knows them all unknown to him.

His conversations with Harry tend to be more intellectual than anything. With Sirius it's easy to jump off the deep end, but Remus is more cautious, more world savvy. Books and facts are safe ground for them, where they don't have to think about how they're somehow both family and strangers. The fact that they're both keeping secrets from each other not helping, even when Harry already knows Remus' biggest one.

He doesn't always stay with them. He and Sirius share a room when they do, but it's not uncommon for the werewolf to disappear for days at a time and come back looking worse for wear, regardless of the phase of the moon.

"He works as a courier for delicate magical artifacts," Sirius explains to him one day. "The hours are rough but they're erratic enough that no one will notice if he just happens to not work during—when he gets sick."

When he gets sick. That's the only thing they'll tell him about Remus' furry time of the month. It's a chronic illness, it's not contagious so you don't have to worry about it, Harry.

He sighs.

"He does know that you are filthy rich, right?" Harry asks, an eyebrow raised.

"He won't take a single knut," Sirius sighs. "Moony hates feeling indebted to me, no matter how many times I tell him he isn't."

Harry just hums in answer.

On those days when it's just the two of them, Sirius will either sulk in front of their new telly and watch cartoons until Harry drags him to do something or he will plant himself firmly next to Harry, desperate for human company. It's easier for him to exist as Padfoot, to just drop himself on Harry's lap while he reads or does homework and pets him mindlessly.

For his part, Harry has taken to spending time in the Black library. The place is guarded so that no kids can take the more dangerous books, but Harry has gotten around that by asking Kreacher to retrieve them for him. Padfoot on his lap is either unaware or uncaring about the nature of his reading material, but Harry feels safe to assume the latter when a new bookshelf appears in his room one day, along with a collection of books on a variety of subjects ranging from healing magic to borderline illegal curses and hexes. 

From there Harry develops an interest in both illusions and healing magic. He hasn't gotten too severely hurt in his nightly escapades yet, but he's come close a few times. Walden Macnair was a wily one, that's for sure, but Harry managed to heal the cut he landed on his arm that night, and not even a scar remains. Thankfully, the Prophet still claims Macnair's death as a one off, and no leads about his murder have been found. 

He’s currently working on combining his runes with optical illusions. He wants to go after Goyle Sr. but he doubts his usual tricks will be enough. The Goyles may not be the sharpest tools in the shed, but they still have access to ancient protections and are known to be associated with the Malfoys. Any harm that falls onto them is sure to be examined with a fine-tooth comb.

He doesn't intend to overpower him either physically or magically. He’s relying on the fact that what the man has in physical strength and magical resistance he lacks in the brains department, but what can one expect when the family would rather breed with trolls than with muggles or muggleborns? Harry will never understand pureblood supremacists.

Maybe he can make him fall into a hole like in those cartoons Sirius likes, now that would make fun news.

Dobby appears on the night of his birthday.

Sirius and Remus take him to muggle London during the day, and they spend the time until sundown eating junk food, window shopping, and buying records in a vinyl shop his mum took Remus to once. She had a thing for punk, apparently.

They try to ask him what he wants as a present, but Harry plays it coy, refusing to name anything until they get back home. In there he pulls the doe eyes and asks them if he could maybe, if they’re okay with it, get a mandrake leaf. The contrasting looks on Sirius' and Remus' faces when he tells them he wants to become an animagus are priceless.

Sirius and Harry join forces to make Remus agree to it, and they promise to get him one before he leaves for Hogwarts, as long as he promises to share every single doubt and ask them every question he has about the process instead of just hoping for the best like the marauders did.

While he’s on the bed Dobby does his speech about a great danger in Hogwarts, and Harry has to stop himself from rolling his eyes before telling him that he won’t go if Harry gets his letters back.

The house elf looks satisfied while he looks through the letters, but then Harry realizes that there’s only one in the pile signed by Draco. Before Harry can ask Dobby if there’s anything left, he disappears with a loud crack.

Something's wrong.

Mindlessly, Harry touches his bracelet and lets out a sigh of relief when the gem pulsates along with Draco’s heartbeat. It’s a motion he repeats nightly, but it brings him comfort nevertheless. The beat doesn’t give him much information, but its steadiness lets him know that Draco is not scared or unconscious. He takes that as a win.

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s happened. The letter in his hand is dated only a week after summer started, and Harry opens it with wary hands.

Dear Harry, it starts. 

It’s only been a few days since we left Hogwarts but I already miss it. The mansion feels so empty compared to the castle, and the house elves don’t come even close to matching your wit.

Mother has been her usual self. She's delighted that I'm back home and she's taken me to every store she's discovered during the year so we can buy new clothes. She is leaving this afternoon for a wellness retreat in France, and I might have appreciated the space to breathe if it weren't for father.

Father hasn’t spoken much since I got home other than to complain about some new bill that just got passed, but I think he wants to start teaching me how to be the next head of the family. He asked me to come speak with him in his studio tonight. He never lets me in there.

I'm excited about the prospect of finally being treated like an adult. I mean, finally! I'm twelve for Salazar's sake!

Other than that,  I wish we could meet face to face soon, but I'll settle for exchanging letters for now. That means 'write to me as soon as possible.'

Yours, Draco.

It's Draco’s handwriting alright, but there’s charms to imitate those, or Draco could have been coerced to write it against his will. There's nothing much out of the ordinary in the letter, and that only makes the uneasiness in Harry's gut grow.

He immediately pens a message to Draco, explaining the situation with Dobby. He doesn't name him, just mentions the fact that a house elf was stealing his mail, and after that, he tries to pretend that everything is normal.

He's not really able to rid himself of the uneasiness, especially when Draco continues to not return his letters. Time is moving too slowly for his liking.

He uses the excuse of the bitter leaf in his mouth to explain his gloomy mood, not that either of his guardians buy it, but during the nights, he has to stop himself from making his way to Malfoy Manor and demanding answers more than once. He doesn't want to mess with those ancient wards yet.

He tries to distract himself by practicing his wandless magic, and keeping an eye on the Prophet for news of Lockhart's book signing. He needs to make sure that he's there at the same time as the Weasleys and Lucius Malfoy. Maybe he'll catch a glimpse of Draco then.

When that day of august finally arrives. He tells Sirius he's going out before going through the floo. He only has to hide for a couple of minutes before he sees them pass by. With a deep breath, he puts on his mask and steps into the light.

"Hey guys," Harry says casually.

"Harry!" The Weasleys say as a chorus, making him snort.

"Doing the school shopping?" he asks, looking over their bags. "What do you guys have left?" 

Mrs. Weasley is the one who answers. "We were just going to Flourish and Blotts, sweetheart. We're only missing the kids' books."

"Awesome, me too. Can I join you?" He asks with his best doe eyes.

"Of course!" 

It's that easy.

Harry manages to avoid Lockhart dragging him to the spotlight by simply hiding behind the taller Weasleys. He doesn't want to deal with the fame obsessed charlatan, so he makes his way quietly to the back of the bookstore and gets his copies of the required books for the year,  making a disgusted face when he gets the defense ones. He may be rich, but it still hurts to go spending his money on garbage like that.

When Lucius Malfoy appears and starts a fight with Mr. Weasley, Harry watches from the background. He doesn't say anything, doesn't interrupt. He waits until Lucius drops the diary in Ginny's cauldron to make his move.

And then he sees him.

"Draco?" Harry asks.

His eyes widen when he sees Harry, and then, only for a second, a pained expression paints his face. It's quickly replaced by a cold expression, and it makes Harry stop in his step.

Draco says nothing. He just quickly goes to follow his father, bumping into Ginny and sending both their stuff to the floor before Harry can get a word in.

"Watch out where you're going, Weasley!" Draco sneers as he picks up his things.

He steals one last look at Harry before he leaves. It's quick enough that everyone else most likely missed it, but Harry's so attuned to Draco he would notice if he blinked out of rhythm. Harry was right: something's wrong.

"Geez, what crawled up his arse and died?" Ron asks, just seconds before Molly berates him for his language.

Harry doesn't answer him. Instead, he turns to Ginny and helps her gather her things. "Er, Gin, did my new journal get mixed with your things?" he asks her awkwardly. "I think I dropped it in your cauldron. It said T.M. Riddle on the back."

She checks her books before answering. "Um, I don't think it's in here, Harry. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," He replies with a smile, but when they all go home and Harry is left alone in his room there's only one thing on his mind.

"Huh," he says.

He might have miscalculated.

Here's the thing. Harry isn't good at just waiting on his arse. He wasn't when he had had to figure out the second clue of the Triwizard Tournament. He wasn't when he had spent his entire sixth year stalking Draco. He certainly wasn't when he spent what should've been his seventh year in the middle of nowhere trying to find pieces of a madman's soul. So now that the diary is out of his hands. In Draco's, he may be freaking out slightly.

Taking a deep breath, he looks at his books, both the ones Sirius got for him and the collection from Lockhart he just bought.

A vision starts forming in his head. He can work with this, he can make it happen. He's done the impossible before. This will be a piece of cake in comparison. He just has to make a plan.

Draco will be fine. Harry will bring him back to his side and save him from Tom.

He's not losing him again.

Chapter Text

They meet with the Weasleys just outside Platform 9&¾, and Harry makes sure to be the last one of their group to cross the wall.

He lets Ron go first, trying to spare him the bother, but the wall doesn't let him through and he comes crashing down. Harry winces in sympathy, but at least it wasn't him.

After the crowd around them calms down, Harry grabs Ron by the scruff of his neck before he can even think of going to his dad's car, not willing to put himself through that experience again. He tells Ron to sit still, and the redhead pouts but complies.

Harry could apparate to the platform himself if he really wanted to, but no one is supposed to know just how much control over his magic he has, and he still would have to do something about Ron.

The wait isn't long, less than ten minutes in fact before their guardians come back to them, asking them a million questions and fretting over nothing, truly. Soon he and Ron are being side apparated to Hogsmeade, where they spend the day visiting before the train arrives.

Hermione and Neville look relieved to see them okay, but when Harry tries to catch Draco's eye, Crabbe and Goyle step in front of the blond, forming a wall between him and Harry.

He gives them a dark look, but they remain unmoved, so he turns around and joins his Gryffindor friends.

He's moody for the entire ride to the castle, but thankfully no one calls him out on it. When they get to the great hall, Draco is once again surrounded on all sides, and it's only when they are alone in their dorm room that Harry gets a chance to speak with him.

"Draco, what is going on!?" he asks him, almost desperately.

A moment passes before Draco answers.

"I—We can't be friends anymore, Ha—Potter. I'm—I'm sorry," He says, looking at the floor.

"What? Why? What happened?" Harry feels like he's going insane. Did his father say something? Has Tom gotten to him? He needs answers.

"I—You wouldn't understand it, Potter," Draco says. "You're just a half blood."

The conversation only goes in circles after that, with Draco clearly looking more distressed and spitting worse vitriol by the second. It doesn't faze Harry, though. He knows when Draco is fronting, but before he can truly get through his walls, Draco leaves the room with a bang.

Harry wants to follow him immediately, but he waits a couple of seconds, paying attention to the point-me spell in their bracelets. When he decides that Draco's not coming back any time soon he makes way for his trunk, and sighs in relief when he finds Riddle's diary.

He then puts on his cloak and goes after the blond, stopping just outside Snape's office. The door's closed but he can faintly hear Draco's shaky voice from inside.

"—I know, I just need to trade rooms, please."

Snape says something that Harry doesn't hear.

"Please, professor. I don't want to make my father angry," Harry doesn't gasp, only because he's trained to repress reactions like those. "He says I can't be associating with Weasleys, mudbloods or Harry if I want to be a Malfoy. I need to do this."

Harry makes a mental note there. When he kills Lucius Malfoy he'll make it painful.

The sound of Draco sobbing pulls him out of his thoughts. He wants to go to him, to hold him in his arms and tell him it'll be okay, but right now Draco won't accept that. Draco still believes that Lucius Malfoy's word is the law. He still doesn't truly understand what his bigotry causes.

With a clear mind, Harry silently makes his way back to their room, and after some deliberation, he makes a decision.

When Draco comes back to the room he doesn't say a word. He gathers his things while Harry fakes sleep. Harry can feel his eyes on him for a few minutes, but soon after, Draco leaves.

Letting out a deep sigh, Harry leaves his own bed and goes to Draco's. The sheets are clean. They don't hold Draco's scent, but he still curls himself up on it as a million images cross his mind. He doesn't think he'll get much sleep, especially knowing that tonight, Draco will write into his diary, and the diary will write back.

In the first week of the term Harry goes to the Weasley twins and asks for help retrieving the Marauders' Map from Filch's office. He tells them stories from Sirius and Remus about his dad, about their pranks and their adventures and admits that he wants to have a part of his family with him. They look sheepishly at each other before admitting that they already have the map.

Harry convinces them to trade it in exchange for some help with future pranks and permission to borrow the map in the future. He agrees easily. It's little compared to the ability to know Draco's exact position at any given time, especially now that he'll have to keep an eye on the whole petrification madness.

He spends most of his free time brewing potions in the room of requirement and putting them under stasis charms inside his trunk. Some of the stuff he makes require hours of continuous work, and it won't do him good to disappear for long periods of time once the attacks start.

It's during this time that he finally gets rid of the mandrake leaf in his mouth and brews the animagus potion. The process is very hands off from that point on, just an incantation every morning until a thunderstorm comes through Hogwarts, and then he'll finally know his form. He's hoping for either something discrete or something lethal. Maybe both.

He gets caught by Lockhart after curfew once, but the professor only makes Harry join him in his office for tea. Harry would honestly have preferred to have a week worth of detentions with Filch. Although he does get some enjoyment out of messing with Lockhart's things without his notice.

The day quidditch practices start he makes his way to the pitch and sits on the stands, with no intention of joining the team. 

He watches as the Gryffindors and Slytherins face each other, remaining unfazed when Marcus Flint reveals that Lucius Malfoy bought new brooms for the entire team and Draco made seeker. He watches as Ron and Hermione get into a verbal spat with Draco, and he watches when Draco calls Hermione a mudblood and Ron retaliates by making him puke slugs with his working wand.

From a distance, Draco looks up to the stands with teary eyes, and Harry makes sure he can see his disappointed face before he lurches. Harry then leaves the pitch without a word.

Tom, I feel guilty. I can't get Harry's words from last year out of my mind. I know muggles are lesser than us, but Hermione is—was my friend, she isn't that bad for a mudblood.

I'm not a blood traitor! You know I'm not, Tom. I'm a proper Malfoy.

I'm a proper Malfoy.

Draco isn't eating as much as he should, Harry notices. His mother continues to send him the usual boxes with sweets but lately he just passes them on to Crabbe and Goyle, who swallow them without even tasting them. That's a lesson waiting to be learnt if Harry's ever seen one.

He starts spending more time with Hermione, Ron, Neville, and more to the point, Colin Creevy. He's not doing it because he particularly cares about the younger boy or anything like that. His reasons are more selfish in nature. When the whole Heir of Slytherin situation blows up, it'll help his image to have some photographic evidence that he's friends with blood traitors and muggleborns.

He knows that people will look for any evidence to turn against his house, but he can also get a step ahead of the situation, he can control the narrative to his favor. The golden boy of Slytherin doesn't have quite the catch that Gryffindor did, but that's the image he needs this year.

It's nice spending time with the Gryffindors, especially when he's not exactly Mr. Popular in Slytherin. No one actually says anything to him about the matter, but it's clear that Draco got all the students in their year in the divorce. The only ones who still speak to him are Blaise Zabini and Tracey Davis. One of whom has no family involved in British politics and the other being the only other half blood in the same year and house.

It's not surprising to find himself alone in the house of snakes. He never put any effort into befriending any of them, to begin with. Why should he? When he's going to kill most of their parents, eventually. Harry can't have any of them getting even a clue of his actions and trying to take revenge against him.

When Halloween comes, Mrs. Norris gets petrified in front of the second floor's bathroom. Harry observes detached as Filch accuses everyone around him of murder. Lockhart comes out of the bathroom with toilet paper stuck on his shoe and pales at the sight of an animal corpse, but quickly puts on his confident mask and starts offering completely worthless solutions.

Draco Malfoy is not seen that night.

Tom, do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?

Harry is a half blood, do you think he'll be safe? He keeps trying to talk to me and all I want to do is let him, but father was clear on his expectations of me. Is it okay that I don't want to obey father?

Am I a bad son?

The Chamber of Secrets is all people seem to talk about after Halloween. As the only Slytherin they know, the Gryffindors harass Harry for any information he may have about the legend.

"I was raised muggle, remember? How would I know?" Harry asks after the third time they corner him.

"Haven't the other kids in our year said anything? At least one of them must know!" Hermione says.

"Because I'm on such good terms with all of them, right?" he asks with raised eyebrows.

"Sorry," she winces.

They drop it after that, choosing instead to ask Mr. Binns for the story in the middle of class. 

"We all already know the story," Draco says with clear annoyance in his voice. It only causes Hermione to insist harder for it, and it spurs a debate in the middle of the class that the professor clearly doesn't care to mediate.

It's a nice reprieve from an otherwise boring lecture, but then the droning starts again and Harry drops his head on his desk in boredom.

The first game of the season is Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, and Harry considers missing it for all of two seconds before realizing that that would mean not seeing Draco fly. He immediately dresses up for the weather after that and makes his way to the pitch.

He sits in the Gryffindor stands but still cheers when Draco catches the snitch and wins Slytherin the game. Ron at his side rolls his eyes at him but Harry just makes his way to the pitch to catch a glimpse of Draco.

He hadn't meant to forget about Dobby's bludger.

When the game first started, he worried that the ball was going to come and attack him on the stands, but as the game passes with no signs of rogue bludgers it just slips his mind.

It's not until he's less than two meters away from Draco that he hears the screams around him. Madam Hooch is trying to call the ball back to its container, but Harry knows it'll be useless. House elf magic is stronger than that.

The ball makes his way towards him, and Harry manages to dodge it by throwing himself to the ground, but when it comes back, Harry realizes that it's going to hit someone else.

Jumping up, Harry stands between the bludger and Draco, throwing up the strongest shield he can muster, doing so wandlessly and without uttering a single word.

The action pulls something from deep within Harry, and he can taste the electricity in the air as the shield manifests in front of him. It's pitch black and looks like tar, yet that isn't what Harry focuses on. Instead, he watches open eyed as black lighting marks start forming in his hands and go up towards his arms. It doesn't hurt, but it's nothing Harry's ever experienced before.

The ball crashes against the shield, but Harry's magic doesn't budge in the slightest, the tar like shield seems to just absorb the ball as it tries its hardest to attack. Luckily, that gives the professors enough time to blast the thing into oblivion.

He turns to Draco, who is now sitting on the floor. Harry kneels in front of him. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asks.

Draco's eyes are watery and he looks like he wants to say something, but instead he swallows hard and runs away from the field while everyone around them watches.

Looking down, Harry sees that his arms are slowly returning back to normal, the black lighting receding. He clenches a fist, trying to swallow down his fury at Dobby. The house elf is lucky that Harry has a use for him, because all he wants to do right now is strangle him to death.

Someone tried to kill Harry and me today. I've been ignoring him and he still stood between a wild bludger and me. I don't know what to think.

I wish my father would understand that Harry is good, I don't want to keep ignoring him. The dark lord is dead. Why do we still have to live by his rule?

You're the only one who understands me anymore 

Dobby does come  to him, and they exchange some choice words, but Harry made sure to blow off steam beforehand, so he manages to not annihilate the house elf before he leaves.

The morning after the quidditch game they find the remains of a ghost in one of the hallways. Mr. Binns had been petrified, making him tangible, and he'd been broken into several little pieces, or at least that's what the rumors say, Harry doesn't show himself anywhere near the mess.

Dumbledore makes a farewell speech for Professor Binns that same day and announces History of Magic classes are canceled until they find a replacement professor.

The mood in the school becomes somber, and people start speculating about the identity of the heir more fervently.

Thankfully, Harry's name doesn't make the list of most likely candidates. Sure, there are people who suspect him solely because of his house, but being isolated from his peers gives him an image of being good and 'not like all those other Slytherins.' He's not too fond of that particular way of thinking, but it works well enough for him.

Snape, on the other hand, outright hates it, and promptly punishes Harry for anything and everything he can think of in revenge. Harry just rolls his eyes at the pettiness of the man. House points haven't mattered to him since he was 12 in his first life, and the detentions are mostly chores he can do while thinking about important things. Snape will have to try harder if he wants to get to him.

When December comes and Lockhart announces his dueling club Hermione is the most excited out of their group, to none of their surprise.

"He's a fraud!" Ron moans.

Harry smartly doesn't comment, but Hermione still tries to lecture them all on all of Lockhart's achievements. He can't wait until that blows up on her face.

It's obvious from the very beginning that Lockhart has no control whatsoever over the students, and the individual duels happening all over the Great Hall only reinforce that image. Harry and Neville are smart enough to pick a corner away from all the chaos and just do their own thing, but Ron, unable to not pick a fight, and Hermione, whose boldness sometimes overrides her common sense end up brawling against two Slytherins on the floor, wands forgotten.

He and Neville watch as Ron's wand breaks in the middle of his fight, Neville wincing and clutching his own in response.

Harry raises an eyebrow at him.

"It was my father's… I don't know what Gran would do if something happened to it," he explains.

"Then maybe you should get your own," Harry offers, not unkindly. "You could put that one in an exhibition box and have it displayed back at home."

Neville looks at him skeptically. “Who knows, having your own wand might even help you be better at magic,” Harry adds.

Neville seems to consider it for a moment, but soon after the professors call for their attention and decide to put on an exhibition match.

It's not much of a duel, really. Lockhart tries to cast against Snape, flailing when his disarming charm has no effect in the potion master's perfect shield, and then it's Snape's turn, who makes him fly several feet in the air, making them all wince.

Lockhart clenches his jaw before he goes back to his usual smile, and then he's asking for two students to volunteer for their own duel.

Harry thinks it's destiny when he and Draco are the ones chosen.

The two of them step onto each side of the platform, taking their assigned positions. There's an uneasy look on Draco's face and Harry can't help but give a sly smile.

"Scared, Malfoy?" He asks.

Something flashes in his eyes, and a determined look appears on his face.

"You wish, Potter."

When the signal is given, Harry casts a single expelliarmus at Draco, who only manages to dodge it by the width of a hair, before casting his own spell. The room goes quiet when a snake appears from the end of Draco's wand.

No one moves.

Lockhart tries and fails to get rid of it, instead dropping the confused animal in front of their audience.

Harry does nothing.

He watches as the snake locks its eyes on Justin Finch-Fletchly and out of the corner of his eye sees the horrified look in Draco's face as the snake attacks the kid.

And the room descends into chaos.

Snape vanishes the snake with a spell and he runs towards the kid, checking the bite before levitating him and leaving the room in a hurry. He's probably going to the infirmary, but in doing so he leaves Lockhart in charge of the room.

"Alright everyone, there's no need to panic, I'm sure Professor Snape is on his way to the infirmary with that young man, there is nothing to fear," He says, but his voice makes it clear that not even he believes it.

Harry makes his way to Draco who is still frozen on the spot, shaking with his eyes open wide.

"I—I didn't mean to—" He starts, looking at Harry with wide eyes.

"Let's go to the dorm," Harry says, dragging him away from the crowd and into the Slytherin group that's forming on the outskirts of the room. They may not be on speaking terms but it's on moments like this that Slytherin shines. They're an united front right now. No one will speak a word of this to their parents.

Only once they're in the dorm Draco is taken away from him, and he almost wants to take Pansy Parkinson's arm off for the slight.  She looks at him with a serious look and nods once before walking Draco away.

Draco only pretends to sleep that night. He tries to hide it, but his silencing charms aren't strong enough to hide his cries from Harry under his invisibility cloak.

Tom, I know it's been a few days since I last spoke to you, I —

I did something bad

Professor Snape told me of a spell to try against Harry and I didn't even hesitate before doing it, why am I so stupid? If I had hurt him I don't know what I would've done.

I think I'll stay in the castle for Christmas. I really don't want to see father... What do you think? I overheard Harry saying he was going to stay too, but I doubt he even wants to talk to me anymore. Life's so miserable without him.

Sometimes it feels like time is passing by without me even noticing, I feel like I'm fading away

Justin Finch-Fletchley stays in the infirmary for almost a week, but eventually he recovers. 

Draco doesn't get detention for his actions in the duel, if only because the professors are too busy dealing with the petrification of a muggleborn girl from Ravenclaw whose name Harry doesn't care about.

Rumors about Draco being the heir start to spread, and Harry is wondering whether to encourage them or stop them when Hermione comes to him.

They're both staying in the castle for the winter holidays. He doesn't know what exactly she tells her parents to accomplish this, but Harry whined to Sirius that he didn't want to leave and risk ruining his animagus potion if he left it alone for too long. The fact that the thunderstorm he needs to finish the process happens on New Year's Eve helps him validate his reasoning.

Hermione tells him she's heard the rumors about Draco and got the idea to interrogate him while using polyjuice brewed in Myrtle's bathroom. Harry eventually agrees to help her brew it, he just doesn't tell her that he'll be taking all the potion they don't end up using. Hermione will be too busy dealing with cat ears in the infirmary to care.

Ron and Neville disguised as Crabbe and Goyle don't accomplish much. Draco isn't really speaking to anyone anymore.

He's been spending his time alone, carrying the diary everywhere he goes, but he only writes on it when he's in the security of his room. Harry knows this because he's been following him around under his cloak.

He's twitchy, and paranoid, from under his robes Harry can see bruises covering his arms. It's very unlike him. It breaks Harry's heart to see him like that. Yet, he continues his chosen path, watches as Draco spirals without him by his side. Harry would make it all stop if Draco asked him for help, but he knows his friend won't do it yet.

Eventually, Draco does try to get rid of the diary, and Harry makes sure to pick it up and show his discovery off at a moment he knows Draco will be watching. The next day Harry's room is broken into and the diary is gone. It feels good to know Draco still cares enough about him to want to protect him from Tom.

The day of the quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, Harry wakes Draco up from his sleeping spot in the library.

"Are you okay?" he asks him.

Draco looks at him with tired eyes.

"I—" 

He's interrupted by the voice of professor McGonagall coming from outside the library, and the two of them make their way towards her only to find her in front of Hermione, who has been petrified right under their noses.

Draco's face looks ashen, and Harry does his best impression of shock, but soon McGonagall sends them to their dorm room. They walk side by side in silence, Draco slightly shaking as he does so, but before Harry can speak to him again, Draco quickly makes way for his own room.

When he gets into his room, he sits at his desk and brings out a quill.

Tom, tell me the truth… Are you the heir? Draco writes.

Harry smiles as the words appear in his own copy of the diary. He should find a way to thank Hermione for teaching him the protean charm all those years ago, but that's for later. Right now, “Tom” needs to write a reply to a cute little Slytherin.

And Harry has to pay a visit to a certain chamber.

Chapter Text

"Tom" convinces Draco that he can't get rid of the diary again. What happens in reality is that every time he tries to do so Harry stuns him from under his invisibility cloak and carries him around before dropping him somewhere else in the castle. Sometimes in the middle of a crowded room, under a notice-me-not charm. Harry's used to his weight. He's been doing this since the school year began.

He doesn't wake him up immediately. Sometimes he uses the polyjuice he nicked off Hermione and pretends to be Draco while going about his day. He always looks spooked when someone talks to him about conversations he doesn't recall. It's adorable.

Draco doesn't tell anyone about his "missing time" or the bruises Harry has been spelling on his body. He layered enough compulsions in the fake diary to stop Draco from doing so. Write on me, confide in me, don't let anyone know about me , the magic of the diary says in dulcet tones.

Not much changes about his routine. He still spends time with the Gryffindors. He still pretends to care about finding who the heir is. He still watches over the person with the real diary, even adding his own touch when necessary. Not that Tom seems to notice. He must think it only a coincidence that there were always reflective surfaces whenever he striked, but Harry wasn’t about to let innocent kids die just to teach Draco a lesson. He wanted him to regret pulling away from Harry, not for him to blame himself for someone's death.

Although Professor Binns…

That had been a spur of the moment decision, really, but the man was already dead, and they got Andromeda Tonks to replace him as a professor, so Harry thinks it’s overall a net positive. No one misses him.

The only added difficulty to his routine comes from the security measures Dumbledore starts to set. Not that they stop him with his new animagus form and his invisibility cloak. Harry can get anywhere in the castle in a matter of minutes if he needs to. He’s like a ghost.

He guesses he matches Draco, in that way. The blond looks like a mere ghost of himself, pale, lonely, afraid. Harry comforts himself in the knowledge that it’s almost over.

Hagrid gets sent to Azkaban. Lucius bribes the Board of Governors. Dumbledore is removed from the school. It all comes to a head the day Draco wakes up in front of the petrified body of Professor Snape just outside of the passage to the Slytherin common room and wakes the entire castle with the scream he makes.

Harry runs out of his room the moment Draco starts to yell. When he gets to his side he kneels next to Draco and envelops him in his arms while Draco clings to him. Harry pets his hair and tells him that everything will be okay. The rest of their house quickly comes too, and Harry tells an upperclassman to bring a professor while he tries to calm Draco down. He knows the blond won’t appreciate Dumbledore seeing him cry.

After Dumbledore speaks to both of them (because they both refuse to let go of the other) Harry takes Draco to his room. To their room. Where Draco starts sobbing again and babbling about it being all his fault. Harry pretends not to understand a word he’s saying, and just tells Draco that he can tell him in the morning, that Harry won’t go anywhere. Draco takes the tea Harry offers him, and soon Harry's own brand of sleeping potion starts taking its effect. Draco falls asleep in his bed, and Harry grins victorious, moving a strand of hair away from his forehead.

“Tomorrow it’ll all be over” he promises him. “Tom” broke him down, but Harry will put him back together. It’s a promise.

Before sunrise, one of Harry’s alarm charms around the castle wakes him up. He leaves his room and makes his way towards a second floor corridor, where he’s met with the next piece on his board.

From under his cloak, Harry watches as Tom uses the borrowed body to write a bloody message on the hallway wall. When he's done, he leaves the bucket of blood on the floor and makes his way to Myrtle's bathroom. Harry doesn't follow him.

Instead, he goes to the wall. "His skeleton will lie in the chamber forever," Harry reads, before snorting.

“Too right,” he says.

Bringing out the map, Harry checks that everyone is in position. Today is Lockhart’s turn to patrol before curfew ends. The professors are still in their rooms. He smiles when he realizes that it's all playing out as expected.

Draco is still out from last night, and will remain so until Harry administers the antidote for the sleeping potion he put in his tea. Like that, he carries him under the invisibility cloak all the way down to the chamber of secrets, depositing his sleeping body in the antechamber.

Harry runs a hand through his hair. He hasn't been taking care of it, he notices, yet he still looks beautiful.

From his own robes, Harry collects both his and Draco's copies of Riddle's diary, burning one entirely with an incendio and slightly scorching the other. He uses the ashes to trace a protection rune on Draco's forehead. He won’t risk him getting hurt.

When he finally walks down to the chamber he's met with the ghost of Tom Riddle, and the body of Gilderoy Lockhart.

Perfect.

It had been easy to give the professor the diary. He didn’t even notice when Harry slipped it between his things, and Tom must’ve had the time of his life maneuvering him to do his bidding. Harry feels proud of himself for how it all ended working out.

At first Harry shows himself as a scared student who followed Lockhart’s tracks, determined to stop him. He lets Tom give him his evil speech while trying not to roll his eyes, and his eyes light up when Harry reveals his name, before he responds by showing him his own.

Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort . How the pillock never was discovered for using a bloody anagram of his birth name as his new made up name Harry will never understand.

“And now, I will finish what the other me couldn't!” Tom exclaims.

Harry takes a step backwards.

" Come forward, Slytherin. Greatest of the Hogwarts Four! " Tom practically screams.

The passage at the back of the chamber slips open and then...

Nothing happens.

Harry straightens up, moving forward. He keeps his hands on his pockets, and a smirk on his face.

"I said, come forward, Slytherin. Greatest of the Hogwarts Four! " Tom repeats in confusion.

Harry chuckles."You didn't really think that would work, did you?"

Tom looks murderous. "What?"

“Well, I wasn’t about to let you bring a basilisk to a wand fight, that’s hardly fair,” Harry mocks.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, confusion seeping into his voice.

“I killed the basilisk, Tom,” Harry explains plainly.

"You didn’t! The basilisk is there! I’ve been using her all year!" Tom shouts manically.

Harry ‘ tch ’s. "Oh, Tom, you're so naive, it's adorable," Harry says, making a complex motion with his wand.

Tom's eyes widen as Harry’s illusion dissolves, revealing the corpse of the basilisk Harry had killed earlier. "Illusion magic can be pretty damn realistic, don't you think? Bet you didn’t even notice the smell."

Tom covers his mouth as the stench of the corpse reaches his ghostly nostrils. He looks at Harry with new eyes. Scared ones. "But— the petrified students! I did that!"

Harry walks towards the diary, giving Lockhart’s body a kick on his way. "Of course you did, and then I came and killed it. Funny how that works, don't you think?”

"What—How—When did you—!?" 

"Oh, just a few hours ago. I’ve been keeping a rooster in my bedroom, I just got lonely, you know? and I decided to take him for a midnight stroll. Did you know that their cries are lethal to basilisks?” Harry casually admits, picking the diary up. "Now, I think it's time for us to say goodbye."

It makes Tom come back to reality, and suddenly he's standing up and trying and failing to hold onto Harry's robes with his translucent hands. Shouldn’t have possessed a weak wizard like Lockhart, Harry thinks.

"Don't!” Tom cries. ”We can work together! Think about how much we could accomplish if we joined forces!"

"Heard that speech before, Tom. Didn't work then, doesn't work now," Harry calmly replies.

"Potter, please, I don't want to die!" he yells.

Something snaps inside of Harry. "Huh, that's funny. That's exactly what my Draco told me once," he admits, making Tom look at him in confusion, but that is soon replaced with horror as Harry stabs the diary once. And then again, and again, and again as the horcrux screams in pain.

Harry doesn’t stop until the venom consumes the whole thing.

“Fucker,” Harry murmurs, throwing the fang away. 

He stands alone in the chamber trying to catch his breath. Draco and Lockhart are unconscious, the basilisk is dead, Fawkes didn’t come with the hat, Harry didn’t expect him to. A creature of light probably won’t be too fond of someone like him. Someone who orchestrates this kind of situation just to show Draco how much he needs Harry, when the truth is probably the opposite. He’s been slowly losing his mind without his Draco by his side, and Draco leaving was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“I blame Tom,” he says to no one in particular. It’s easy to blame the foreign piece of soul magic that used to live in him for his loose screws. “Fucking horcruxes.”

 When he’s calmed down, he walks towards Lockhart’s body, moving him with one foot, to check if he’s still alive. 

He doesn’t react at first, but then Harry kicks him hard in the stomach and the man grunts in pain, unconscious.

Still alive, then.

He looks through Lockhart’s robes for a wand, and when he finds it, he revives him quickly.

“What— What’s going on?” the professor asks, but Harry doesn’t answer. Instead, he casts a simple spell.

“ Obliviate ,” he says, and watches as Lockhart falls to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

After that, it’s just a question of setting the scene. He moves mechanically as he drags Lockhart to the antechamber and carries Draco to the main one. He collapses the tunnel around the professor and throws his broken wand at the rubble. He then casts a stasis charm and an illusion over the basilisk corpse, making it look like it's been burnt to death. 

He almost wants to set it on fire for real, but finds no reason to waste all that material. He can make a pretty sickle with just its skin. He anchors the illusion on the corpse itself, just in case someone decides to come down here before Harry can make any use of it.

The last thing he does is cover himself and Draco with dirt and superficial wounds, more severe for him than for Draco. They need to be real when they're checked over. Fawkes hadn't come to cry over his injuries, and there's no real way a twelve year old comes out of a fight with a basilisk unscathed. Truth needs to be… exaggerated slightly.

After he's done, Harry gives Draco the antidote to the sleeping potion.

He cradles his face as Draco slowly wakes up, and Harry smiles honestly as awareness comes back to the blond.

“Harry… I can’t move,” Draco whispers, sounding confused.

“It's Tom’s fault,” Harry lies. “He’s been stealing your lifeforce.” The truth is that his potion doesn’t exactly give a restless sleep. Draco must be tired. It’ll pass, but it gives Harry an excuse to hold Draco like this.

“What happened?” Draco asks, looking around. “Where are we?”

“It’s the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry tells him. “and Tom took you here. He wanted to come back to life and I had to destroy the diary, but it's over now. I promise.” 

Draco nods, blindly trusting him.

Harry carries him in his arms all the way to the infirmary. Taking him through a convenient passage left in the destruction in the tunnel and dragging a confused Lockhart with them up the stairs Harry conjured on his way down.

The door closes behind them.

Harry tries to take a short route, moving carefully when Draco starts to nod off into his shoulder, and when he gets to the infirmary he tells a shocked Madam Pomfrey that Draco has probably been possessed for the most part of the year and Lochart’s wand backfired on him.

"Harry..." Draco says groggily as Harry puts him in a bed, unwilling to let go of him. 

"Hey," he answers softly. 

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco says, eyes watering. "I didn't want to hurt anybody, I didn't know—" he's not able to finish his sentence, instead breaking into sobs. Harry lets him get snot all over his robes.

The professors, Sirius, Remus, and Draco’s parents join them moments after, apparently Madam Pomfrey had sent off a patronus to Dumbledore. Harry refuses to leave Draco’s side as he tells them all the story he came up with months ago.

He tells them that he woke up before sunrise to an empty room, but when he got out he saw Draco leaving the common room and decided to follow him. He saw Draco whispering something to a sink in Myrtle’s bathroom and tried to get a professor for help, but since it was so early he only found Lockhart. He tried to mimic what Draco said to the sink and they managed to enter the Chamber Of Secrets, where Lockhart tried to obliviate him but his broken wand backfired on him.

“He was a fraud. He did nothing he said in those books,” Harry says with conviction. “I had to fight against a basilisk but none of my spells were doing anything to it, and when it looked like it was going to get me, the fire thing happened again.”

“You fought a basilisk?” Sirius asks, somewhere between proud and terrified.

Harry nods.

“How did you get around the eyes?” says Remus this time.

“Tom ordered him to keep them close. He was playing with me and it backfired.”

Remus pales at the admission.

“I’m sorry, but what is this ‘fire thing’ you spoke about?” Narcissa Malfoy asks.

Harry’s not the one to answer.

“It happened last year too,” Draco says instead. “He burned professor Quirrell after he kidnapped him.” Harry could have kissed him right there and then.

In reality he just nods and keeps telling the story. “The fire killed the basilisk, and I realized that the diary was the only thing keeping him and Draco connected, so I threw it in, and then Tom melted.”

“Who is this Tom you keep talking about?” Narcissa asks, ignoring Lucius’ protests.

Harry looks at Draco, who gives him a nod. “Tom was a kid that left his memories inside of a diary. Draco got a hold of the diary and Tom possessed him to open the chamber of secrets, and—” he swallows. “Tom told me that he was a young version of Lord Voldemort.”

Most people around him gasp.

Dumbledore starts to talk, but then Lucius interrupts, and both Sirius and Narcissa want to say her piece while Remus whispers to himself. It's madness, so Madam Pomfrey makes everyone leave them alone so they can heal.

Narcissa asks to stay anyway, and after a while the mediwitch concedes. Lucius tries to make her go back to the manor with him but she puts her foot down firmly. Apparently Mrs. Malfoy would sooner burn down the manor than abandon her son right now.

Harry likes his future mother-in-law.

Sirius and Remus give Harry a big hug before leaving with Dumbledore, and Lucius leaves in a hurry with Dobby trailing after him.

Harry takes the chance to confront him.

He slips past Madam Pomfrey, and pretends he doesn't notice when Draco follows after him in shaky legs. He didn't want to be the one to tell Draco that his dad had the diary first, and now he doesn't have to, because Lucius admits to it right away after Harry tricks him into freeing Dobby with his fake scorched diary and a dirty sock.

"You have no proof of that, Potter," Lucius sneers after Harry throws the accusations.

"I saw you do it! You almost got us killed!"

Lucius doesn't deny it, he just brings his wand out and tries to curse Harry, but luckily Dobby cuts in and blasts Lucius away for attacking the great Harry Potter.

Harry smiles at the furious look on Lucius’ face before he leaves, and he senses as Draco rushes away from them and back to the infirmary.

"Dobby," he calls.

The house elf quickly puts his attention on him. "Harry Potter! How can Dobby be helping!?"

"Now that you're a free elf, how would you like a paying job as my assistant?"

Dobby breaks into tears. "Dobby would be honored! Oh, to be the great Harry Potter's assistant! Yes, please!"

"Perfect, now here's what I want you to do…"

By the time Draco's released from the infirmary and goes back to their room Harry lies awake in his bed.

Draco stops on his step when he sees him. One hand holding onto his own robes as if his life depends on it.

"Hey there," Harry says. "How are you—"

"I'm sorry," Draco interrupts.

"Huh?"

"Harry, I'm so sorry, he said—" he tries to speak but he's choking on his own tears.

Harry comforts him "Shhh, it's okay, Draco. We're okay."

"No, it's not!" Draco cries. "Father said that if I wanted to be a Malfoy I'd have to stop being your friend, and Hermione’s and I—and I listened to him."

"It's okay, Draco—"

"Stop saying that! It's not! I was a coward, and unloyal, and a bad friend and— and—"

"He's your father Draco, it's not your fault that he tried to use your love for him against you."

It only makes Draco cry harder.

"I wanted to make him proud," Draco says. "I wanted him to look at me like he used to when I was little, to tell me that I'd make the family name proud, but he's a liar, he doesn't care about our family, he only cares about his stupid lord."

Harry hugs him tighter.

"You're forgiven, Draco. I forgive you. I'm never letting you go."

Neither of them lets go of the other until they fall asleep that night.

Madam Pomfrey takes longer to finish the restorative mandrake potion than Snape would have, but she does it anyway. She doesn't have a N.E.W.T in Potions for nothing. The petrified victims are revived and Draco is the first to hug both Snape and Hermione, apologizing immensely to the latter.

Hermione tells them how she figured out about the basilisk, and cries when she finds out that exams have been canceled. Harry tries to console her by saying he hasn't opened a book in protest since she had been petrified, but that only gains him a punch in the arm and some covert snickers from Draco.

“I just can’t believe it!”  Hermione pouts after Harry tells her about Lockhart. “He always seemed so accomplished during class…"

Draco, surprisingly, nods in agreement, and for a moment Harry wishes he had killed the other wizard instead. How did he not know Draco had a thing for him?

The year ends and Slytherin wins the house cup again, but Harry and Draco are too busy in their own bubble to care about that.

"I don't really want to go home," Draco admits on their last night in the castle. They’re both sitting on Harry’s bed, Draco’s head resting against his shoulder, while Harry has a hand around his middle and plays with his hair.

"Hmm?"

"Father won't be happy that I stopped obeying him, and that I got in the way of his plan."

"What about your mother?"

Draco smiles a little. "She'll try to be on my side, but what do I do when she’s not there? She told me that she didn't think father would hurt me but he—”

“He already did?” Harry finishes for him.

Draco nods, sad. "Even if I hadn't gotten the diary myself, the basilisk could still have hurt me accidentally, I—I just don't know what to think."

“For what it’s worth it, you can always come stay in Grimmauld Place for the summer.” Harry offers.

Draco perks up a little. “Cousin Sirius won’t mind?” 

"I’m sure he won’t," He'll imperius him if that's what it takes, but Sirius will probably love to help a rebel pureblood kid run away from home.

“Thank you, Harry.” Draco says earnestly.

“Don’t mention it.”

Eventually, morning comes, and they have to leave the castle. In the train, they share a compartment with Hermione and Pansy, which turns out to be one of the most traumatic experiences of Harry's lives. He can't ever let them become friends. Draco just laughs at his suffering.

When they get to the station, only Narcissa is there to pick Draco up, and Harry watches her trade nods with Sirius before the mother and son duo leave the station hand in hand.

Sirius pulls Harry into a hug, petting his wild hair. "How's your little Malfoy doing?" he asks.

"I told him that he could stay with us if his dad tries to hurt him," Harry says.

Sirius' hold on him stiffens, but he nods.

"That was very nice of you," Remus offers. "Do you think that Lucius would do that?"

"I wouldn't put it past old Lucy. He was one of the worst ones, back then." Sirius answers.

Harry just shrugs. Lucius may be a bastard, but Harry doesn't think he would lift a hand against his own son, according to what he knows of the man. That's why he asked Dobby to start sneaking the irritability potions Harry made into his meals.

Ideally, Harry hopes they have a big fight that doesn’t get physical, something that makes Draco hate his father, because then it won't hurt him as much when Harry finally kills him, but he knows how unlikely that is to happen. Draco will always try to make excuses for Lucius. It had been a tense point in Harry's relationship with his Draco before Lucius died. He's hoping that if he crosses a line, Narcissa will remove herself and Draco from him, and with her on Harry's side, they'll convince Draco to forget about his father.

If that does happen, Harry will be ready to receive Draco into his home with open arms. He always will be.

"Let's go home," he tells Sirius and Remus.

And like that, they apparate away.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Harry dreams of the past. Most times it's just vague feelings, blurry moments that he can't seem to wrap his head around. He knows that if he pokes at it, he'll remember them, but by the time he cares enough to do so, he's already waking up.

Other times, the dreams are so vivid that it seems like he never left the scene. That he's still sitting in the Weasley house, or in Grimmauld Place, in the Forest of Dean.

Tonight's dream just happens to be one of those.

It starts in the ruins of Hogwarts, because where else would it be?

Harry's sitting on the rubble of the castle, looking at the sun as it starts to settle. Readying the sky for the moon to appear.

He looks around and realizes he's alone. That it's all over. He didn't lose.

For a long time he thought he would. That nothing he did would be enough, but he had destroyed the horcruxes, had come back from the dead and killed Voldemort, he had ended the war. 

He definitely hadn't lost.

And yet.

He hardly felt like a winner. Sirius was still dead, and so were Dobby, Tonks, Remus, Fred, and way more people than he could even count.

He's now lying awake in his bed in Grimmauld place. His connection to Voldemort had gone away, but that hardly did anything to stop the nightmares. He could still remember the smile on Fred's face, Remus' limp hand next to that of Tonks, he could still see the green of Snape's curse in the astronomy tower, repeating in a loop over and over again.

It's now one month after the battle of Hogwarts, Molly's invited him for dinner at the Burrow, yet Harry can hardly stay upright for enough time to go to the kitchen, let alone leave the house.

He didn't see any point in anything anymore. He had done the deed, saved the world, he was done. He'd broken up with Ginny, told Hermione and Ron that he needed some time alone, and just hid in his godfather's old house. Maybe if he curled up tight enough in his bed he'd disappear into nothingness. If Hermione was there she'd tell him it was probably unhealthy, but she wasn't there, so he sulked in peace.

And then his Draco came into his life.

Harry wakes up to the sounds of someone loudly stepping out of the floo. He's still half asleep but the sight of the red handprint on Draco's cheek hits him like a bucket of ice cold water.

"I'll kill him," Harry promises.

Draco shakes his head. "You can't—"

"It was him, wasn't it?" Harry interrupts.

Draco clenches his jaw, and nods in response.

"This has no excuse, Draco. Where is your mum, does she know?"

Draco stays silent for a moment before speaking. "Mother was visiting some friends. She asked me to come along, but I—I insisted I'd be fine. obviously I was wrong." He seems to shrink into himself.

Harry frowns. "It's not your fault that your dad's a bastard. He should know better than to hit his own kid."

"He's not—" he stops himself before finishing. "It was a one time thing. He won't do it again."

It had better be. When he asked Dobby to give the potion to Lucius, he'd expected to cause dissent in the Malfoy household. Not to make Lucius hurt Draco. The only thing that's stopping him from going and ending his life right in this second is that Harry needs him, or rather, will need his manor in the future.

If things are the same as his past life, Voldemort will be setting his base there. Harry has studied Malfoy Manor. He knows the wards it has, knows the secret defense measures, the hidden passageways, the emergency exits. If he can manage to corral a big number of Death Eaters there then he can kill them all with a single spell. Efficient, just how he likes it.

"Will your mother be coming back home soon? Do you want to spend the night?"

Draco just nods, and that’s that.

Neither Sirius nor Remus protest when Harry tells them Draco is staying for the night, but Remus, well aware of Harry’s feelings, asks that Draco stay in a guest bedroom.

Harry rolls his eyes but agrees. He has no problem sneaking into Draco’s room in the middle of the night. If asked, he’s just doing it to help with Draco’s nightmares. Absolutely no ulterior motives whatsoever.

Right.

He's not ashamed to say that loves sleeping with Draco in his arms. Draco sleeps like an octopus, wrapping himself around anything he can find, and now that something just happens to be Harry. It’s heaven on earth, if a little stuffy. Thankfully he can cast cooling charms wandlessly so it's not that big of an issue.

In the mornings, when he realizes what he’s done, Draco blushes a very pretty pink and desperately tries to extract himself from Harry before excusing himself to the bathroom. Harry might just spend the rest of the summer giddy with happiness.

It had been a whirlwind of emotions. It had been messy. Feelings had been hurt more than once, but there was something undeniable about the two of them together.

They fit.

Draco wanted redemption and Harry wanted Draco. He had given up on ambition when he refused Slytherin from the Sorting Hat, yet wanting Draco felt like wishing for all the stars on a silver platter. Draco taught him to be selfish, to want things for himself and to take them whenever he could.

Harry taught him what it was like to be good, to try even when it's hard, especially when it's hard. He taught him pain and pleasure, taught him to love selflessly.

Draco had been the one to say it first. "Harry James, I love you," he said during a morning just like any other, making it a moment that Harry would cherish unlike any other.

He started calling him 'Harry James'  whenever he could get away with it. Said that he never wanted to go back to him being ‘just Potter.’

In return, he became His Draco , and Harry hadn't hesitated to say "I love you," back even once. He said it as easily as he breathed.

His Draco loved his possessive streak. He reveled in belonging to Harry. Knowing that Harry would take care of him and would make him his first priority, would worship the ground he walked on if he just let him. Hermione had called their relationship unhealthy at some point. Codependent, but she eventually learned to hold her tongue.

It came to the point where Harry didn't know right from wrong anymore. In his mind it was the two of them against the world. If it came down to a choice between those he wouldn't even hesitate before wrapping his little family inside his cloak and leaving the world to burn itself.

He supposed that if his younger self could see what he was thinking right now he'd be horrified, not only at the thought of being with Malfoy, but the way he was willing to throw away every ounce of morality he had for the man, but frankly, he didn't care. He'd entered this relationship with both eyes wide open, and he had the feeling that he wasn't about to start regretting his choices now, or ever.

But when Voldemort came back so did the mistakes of their past.

Narcissa agrees to let Draco stay in Grimmauld for the summer while she tries to speak reason into Lucius. She comes over at least once a week, and she writes to Draco almost daily. She takes to exchanging letters to Harry too, asking him both about his life with her cousin and about what happened in the Chamber of Secrets.

She doesn't seem too happy with the state of Hogwarts, even knowing that what happened last year was technically her husband's fault.

"Would she take you out of Hogwarts?" Harry asks him one morning during breakfast.

Draco shrugs, playing around with his food. "She was the one that insisted that I go to Hogwarts. Father wanted to send me to Durmstrang, not that that is an option anymore."

Harry's confusion must show on his face because Draco adds, "They don't take exchange students." before turning the question back on him.

"I don't know, this is the second year in a row that something happens to me in Hogwarts, I don't think Sirius likes the place so much anymore," Harry admits. "If he ends up sending me to another school, I'm dragging you with me. Can you imagine us in Beauxbatons?" Harry jokes.

Draco tries hard not to smile. "Do you even know french?" he asks.

Harry looks at him very seriously before replying with a very firm and accented " non."

Draco giggles. Honest to God giggles, Harry feels himself starting to blush.

Their eyes meet, for a moment that stretches to infinity, but Draco is the first to look away, ending the moment with a gasp as he reads the front page of the Daily Prophet.

"What?" Harry asks.

"Vincent’s dad..." he says, passing the newspaper.

Harry winces as he reads the article. "A broom accident? Sounds rough." 

It had been hard to pull off, and the end result hadn't been pretty. A splat of red on the floor that no one should have seen. Harry thought the location had been remote enough to cloud his disappearance in mystery, but apparently not.

"They found him by tracking the charm on his wedding ring," Harry reads out loud. cursing mentally. "He'd been having problems apparating and decided to go to a meeting via broom,  they had been looking for him for days—"

"Stop," Draco interrupts.

Harry looks at him, and notices that he's gone a bit green in the face.

"I—I'm going to write to Vincent. See if he's okay," he says, getting up and leaving the room.

He crashes with Sirius on his way out, muttering a 'sorry' under his breath.

"Is he okay?" Sirius asks.

Harry just shows him the newspaper.

"Ah, the dad of his friend?" Harry nods. "Give him space, it's not easy, being faced with death like that."

Harry knows. He knows death better than anyone he knows.

To say that Harry had been surprised would've been an understatement. He thought the nightmare was over. He thought he'd seen the last of Tom Riddle, yet there he was, creating chaos, death, and destruction wherever he appeared.

The D.A had taken matters into their own hands. They were not the Order of the Phoenix, they weren't willing to sit down and hope for the best while Harry, Ron, and Hermione pushed their luck trying to kill Voldemort.

This was truly a war.

Voldemort wasn't human anymore, and not in the way he hadn't been human before. Now it was different, his figure was a grotesque imitation of a human being, limbs that bent the wrong way and eyes that moved independently of each other.

And what was worse, he wouldn't stay fucking dead.

By the time five years passed Harry had killed him three times, Hermione had killed him twice, Neville, Ron, and Draco had killed him once, and somehow he still kept coming back, each time worse.

It took them an stupid amount of time to realize what was wrong.

They could never study the bodies. Unless they were completely destroyed, Voldemort just kept fighting, so it was only when Gregory Goyle's hand started moving by itself, shooting a dark curse at an unsuspecting Hermione that they figured it out.

Her death hadn't been fast. It had been horrifying to witness. Ron held onto her the entire time, and yet in her final moments she had told Goyle that she forgave him.

Goyle had changed in the time between the final battle and his death. He and Draco had dinner every week and he had started dating a muggle girl after he was briefly exiled from the Wizarding World. He still blamed Voldemort for Vincent Crabbe's death. They all knew that he wouldn't turn against them.

So when he started throwing spells despite his desperate cries for help, his arm rotting as he lost control of his body it became very apparent that Voldemort was possessing him through the Dark Mark. 

Every resurgence of Voldemort coincided with the disappearance of a known Death Eater. He was using his own followers' bodies to cling to life, one at a time, and he would keep doing so until there was no one left.

Draco's face when he came to that realization was forever burned into Harry's memory.

His voice as he explained it to Harry was sometimes all he could hear.

Remus and Sirius come to him one morning after Draco leaves with his mother for a family outing. They make him sit on the big couch in the living room and look at each other uncomfortably before Remus speaks.

"There's something we need to tell you," he says.

Several possibilities cross his mind in an instant. This might be him coming clean about his status as a werewolf, or maybe they'll finally admit that they're in a relationship instead of dancing around the subject and pretending Harry doesn't notice the hickeys and charged looks they give each other. For a horrible second he blanches at the thought of this being The Talk , but thankfully what they end up saying is nothing so horrible.

"Peter Pettigrew escaped out of Azkaban."

"Oh" is the only reaction Harry gives.

He's been waiting for this, if he's being honest. Not for a single second he thought that the Ministry would be competent enough to hold the rat animagus long term. What he doesn't know is if he'll try to come after Harry for revenge or after Voldemort to revive him. Either way Harry isn't scared of him.

Sirius and Remus don't say anything, and Harry realizes they're waiting for a more drastic response.

"Oh, fuck," he says, this time sounding a bit alarmed. It seems to be enough for them

"Yeah,” Sirius says with a grimace.

He tells Harry about Peter escaping Azkaban, about not being sure what his next move will be, but that they want Harry to be safe. The ministry appointed dementors around Hogwarts in case Pettigrew tried getting inside the castle, and Dumbledore offered Remus a position as defense professor and would it be okay with Harry if he took it?

Harry just nods, confused. He's not entirely sure why the decision is up to him.

"What about Sirius?" he asks.

"What about him?"

"Is he going to stay in the castle with you?"

Remus goes silent. Sirius doesn't speak either, but their temperament could not be more different.

Remus is apologetic, as he usually does, while Sirius looks like he's barely containing his fury.

"Dumbledore ," he spits. "doesn't think it'd be safe for all of us to stay in the castle together. Says it would make us one big target."

"But you told him he was coming anyway, right?" he asks Remus. "It'd be stupid to leave one of us alone if he thinks he's coming after us."

Sirius is fuming in his seat.

"I—No, I didn't, Harry. I... don't think it's a good idea for Sirius to be near all the dementors around the castle."

No one says anything for a few moments. The tension in the air is palpable.

"I think you two should talk about that," Harry says, standing up.

In the end they decide that Sirius will rent a place in Hogsmeade, and they all will be able to meet during the weekends. Things seem tense between them for a while, but by the time Draco comes back they all pretend nothing is wrong.

Like that, the rest of the summer goes on. Draco goes back to Malfoy Manor a few days before summer ends. He and his mother having planned a trip to buy all his remaining school supplies and to catch up on their time apart. Harry rests easy knowing that Lucius will be away from them in a business meeting until September 1st.

They only meet again once they are in the Hogwarts Express, where Draco makes a beeline for the seat Harry saved for him in their compartment.

They're sitting with Hermione, Neville, Pansy, and Tracey. Remus had opted to take a seat near the front of the train while Harry knew that Draco preferred to sit in the back. He'd been surprised to walk in on Pansy and Hermione casually speaking to each other as if they were lifelong friends.

Apparently, they've been trading correspondence over the summer, something that both surprises and terrifies Harry. Last time he had been in a train compartment with them they spent the entire ride bickering and trading sharp quips. Draco had loved it, Harry had felt the headache coming from a mile away, those two's voices could get really shrill sometimes.

The atmosphere in the train today is light, though. Which is why Harry notices the exact moment they board the train.

The images in his mind start becoming more and more vivid.

He is sitting in their living room, the unopened letter resting in his hand. Draco's funeral had been a big affair. The Wizarding World knew he'd been the last marked Death Eater, and his death had marked the end of Voldemort's reign of terror.

He read through the letter with dead eyes, knowing that if he let himself feel anything he'd never stop the pain, and right now what he needed was that cold focus that filled his body.

He looked endlessly through every branch of magic he could think of. He used every bit of influence he had to scourge the entirety of the Department of Mysteries for anything that could help.

And when he didn't find anything, he made his own solution.

He holds onto Draco's hand, hoping it gives both of them strength for what it's about to come.

Draco curls into Harry, scared. "What's going on?" he asks.

"Dementors," Harry replies.

It was a mixture of several different rituals, all created with varied languages of runes and requiring different sacrifices. He never told anyone what the sacrifices would be, just that he was ready to make them.

It was only him, Luna, Neville, and Ron in the basement of Grimmauld Place, in the space that used to be Draco's potions laboratory. No one mentioned his name as Harry started setting everything up.

"There'll be no going back after this, Harry," Luna told him with a resigned look.

"I know," Harry replied.

The dementor opens the door of their compartment, and Harry doesn't pass out. He meets it face to face, holding Draco even as they both shiver.

"He's not here," he tells it.

It doesn't listen.

He used one of Draco's knives to cut the runes into his own body, letting his blood flow through the carvings on the floor. Harry chanted in languages long dead and let his magic flow freely around him. Ron started grabbing his chest, having trouble breathing. Neville looked at him with wide eyes, but unable to move, and Luna simply smiled from her place in the corner of the room.

I forgive you, she mouthed

Harry thought that maybe she shouldn't, but it did not matter anymore, because the next instant the flames started covering him, and burning reality itself around him. They consumed his friend's bodies and kept going. They destroyed everything in their path, without a care for the lives they were taking. Harry could feel the pain of every death as they happened, it felt like days, months, even years, but eventually Harry let out a horrifying scream, finally passing out.

"Leave," Harry repeats, putting magic in his words. He can taste lightning in his mouth.

But it doesn't work, the creature remains, and Harry brings out his wand.

When he wakes up, it's to the darkness of his cupboard. "It worked," he thinks.

"Expecto Patronum!" he cries out, and his arms burn. He can see the tendrils of black lightning start to cover them, but he chooses to ignore them in favor of concentrating on his memories.

"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Draco answers.

"Scared, Potter?"

Draco was screaming, holding Harry so tightly it hurt.

"I love you, Harry James."

A silver bird appears out of his wand, and for a second the world stills. Harry's head feels like it's about to explode, but then the bird flaps its wings and swallows the dementor in its flames.

Harry's vision starts to blur, but he's too busy maintaining the spell to care. His phoenix doesn't stop until all that remains of the dementor is ashes, making Draco and the girls look at him with shocked eyes. When he lets go of his control his phoenix goes to stand over Draco's lap.

The two of them stare at each other, two pairs of silver eyes meeting.

"Beautiful," Harry thinks. Or says. He's not entirely sure, because when he lets go and his patronus vanishes, his world turns to black.

Thank you. I'm sorry, the letter said

Chapter Text

Harry wakes up with his head on Draco's lap and a bar of candy under his nose, the scent of chocolate overpowering his sense of smell.

"Hey, Moony," he says groggily, looking at his guardian's worried face.

Remus just shakes his head amused. "I leave you alone for one minute..."

"Better not tell Sirius, he'd go barking mad," Harry jokes, but no one laughs.

He turns his neck to look at Draco, his senses becoming more alert as he takes in his distraught look. "Are you okay?" he asks him, sitting up so he can face him properly.

"Am I—" Draco's expression turns exasperated. He holds onto Harry's shirt, pulling him close. "Don't scare me like that, you prat!"

"Sorry," Harry grimaces.

Behind him, Hermione clears her throat. "What was that spell you used before?" she asks. Remus raises an eyebrow, joining in the question.

"Oh, that," he rubs the back of his head sheepishly. "It was a patronus."

She, Draco, Pansy, and Remus all gasp.

Tracey just looks at them confused. "What's a patronus?" she asks.

"But that's incredibly difficult magic!" Pansy exclaims at the same time.

Harry shrugs. "Yeah," he says, while Hermione starts explaining the spell.

"When did you learn that spell, Harry?" Remus asks in a low voice.

"Um, last year I was feeling down. I read that a patronus has a calming effect, and I had a lot of free time, so..." he lies, looking pointedly away from Draco.

He still flinches. "Why did it make him pass out?" he asks Remus.

"I... I don't know," his guardian admits.

Harry doesn't say anything. He knows what happened.

What happened is that he's an idiot.

That night in their room, when Draco falls asleep, Harry wastes no time casting a diagnostic spell on himself. He has to resist the urge to facepalm when the spell shows him the results, a dark amorphous shape. He's so used to casting whatever kind of magic he wants he forgot he can't actually do that right now.

In his first life, by sheer luck, Harry managed to reach maturity with a grey core that allowed him to cast both dark and light magic without issue. It was an asset that allowed him a great amount of liberties while fighting both as an auror and against Voldemort, but ever since he came back to the past he's cast so many dark spells and neglected the more light ones that his developing magic core is turning black.

Now that he's back to a developmental stage he has to be more mindful of that, lest he end up unable to use an entire branch of magic. He can't let himself become so incompatible with light magic that he passes out from exhaustion every time he needs to cast a patronus. He doesn't want to compromise half of who he is. He wants all magic has to offer. 

Which means that, at least for a while, he needs to stop casting dark magic altogether.

"Ugh," he groans to the darkness of the room, the prospect of not being able to cast even a little fiendfyre drawing a pout from him.

He looks at Draco, who is sleeping in his own bed, and decides that he might as well make his last dark spell of the year something useful.

Bringing out his wand from under his pillow he makes a complex motion, casting a spell at Draco that's just on the wrong side of grey.

When he sees it land, he waits until Draco starts whimpering and turning in his sleep to make a move.

"Draco," he whispers loudly, but he doesn't seem to hear him.

Getting up from his bed, Harry walks towards Draco's, moving him lightly to wake him up from his nightmare.

He jerks awake fast, startling both of them.

"What—What happened?" Draco asks breathlessly.

"You were having a nightmare, I think."

A realization dawns upon him. "Yeah," Draco agrees. "I think... I think I'm starting to remember stuff from when Tom possessed me." he admits shakily.

Harry feigns shock. He definitely can't be remembering that, because it's something that never actually happened, but if that's the kind of stuff his subconscious is making him see then Harry will be there for him.

"Scoot over," he tells him. "I'm joining you."

Draco does so without protesting, grateful for the comfort Harry offers, and soon he's pulling Draco into his chest, letting him use his body as a pillow.

"Good?" he asks.

Draco snuggles into him, and Harry can feel a smile start to form in his face. "Yeah," he says.

They fall asleep just like that. No nightmares for either of them.

"What classes are you taking?" Harry asks the next morning during breakfast.

It makes Draco pause. He looks at his schedule before a determined look covers his face. "Give me a second," he says.

Harry watches him go talk with Snape. They speak for a few minutes, and the professor doesn’t look too pleased, but eventually he waves his wand over a triumphant Draco's schedule. Draco smiles brightly at him, and Snape scoffs before making his way back to the professor’s table. 

When Draco comes back to the table there's a proud light in his eyes.

“What was that about?” Harry asks.

"I am now taking Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Muggle Studies," Draco says with his chin up, full of false bravado. All conversations in the table around them suddenly stop.

"Really?" Harry asks.

Draco nods. "I talked about it with Hermione. She said she'd forgive me for calling her names if I tried to understand muggles and muggleborns better, but I couldn't tell father that I was taking this class without him throwing a fit," he finishes with a slight blush on his cheeks.

"You're brilliant, Draco." Harry tells him.

Draco preens at the praise.

Harry himself had picked Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures, although now that there isn’t the danger of Draco provoking Buckbeak during class and getting hurt because of it, he might just drop that.

It's not like he needs that N.E.W.T for his future career. He plans to either join the Auror Corps or the Unspeakables once again. The work itself is something he knows and enjoys, and he doesn't doubt that he can make his way up to either Head Auror or Head Unspeakable fast. Being in either position will give him a wide berth to protect Draco in the future and eliminate their enemies easily should they arise.

It's with that thought in mind that he goes to his first class of the day.

He doesn't notice it at first. He's about to enter his first Arithmancy class with the Gryffindors when he gets a weird sense of deja vù. Like he's already taken this class, listened to the professors' introduction, despite it being his first time taking Arithmancy in either timeline.

The professor starts to ask a question and Harry realizes that he already knows the answer before he finishes speaking. He's making plans for the homework before it's even assigned.

It's a bit freaky, but Draco starts talking to him then and he pushes it out of his mind, just keeps going about his day like nothing's wrong.

And then a few days later, it happens again. Draco leaves for his first Muggle Studies class with the Gryffindors while Harry has a free period before lunch. He plans to use the free time in the Chamber of Secrets to start taking apart the basilisk's corpse. He spelled a few boxes to be bigger on the inside and keep the ingredients fresh.

But when he hisses the password to the sink, he starts feeling that weird swirling sensation in his chest.

It doesn't last long, but he still notices it. Worried, he makes his way down to the chamber and curses when he sees that someone has already started working on the corpse.

The thought of someone having gotten inside the chamber pisses him off, but when he looks around, he finds one of his boxes already filled with basilisk skin and phials of venom.

"What the..."

Confused, he makes his way back to the hallway and watches as the hordes of students start making their way to the Great Hall. Harry joins them, and when he gets there he sees Draco sitting at the Gryffindor table chatting amicably with Hermione.

"Hey," he says as he sits down next to him, pushing an older student aside as he does so. "I thought you had Muggle Studies right now?" he says to him with a questioning tone.

Draco makes a confused face. "That was almost two hours ago, Harry. Did you fall asleep?"

"I took a nap," Harry lies, brushing the back of his head with one hand. "But I thought it was a short one, I didn't think so much time had passed already."

"This is why you never sleep during the night," Draco chastises him.

"Anyway," Harry says, turning to their friend. "What electives are you taking, 'Mione?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's Hermione," she corrects, and then, proudly, she adds. "And I'm taking all of them." Something silver shines on her neck.

Oh.

"Woah, that must be exhausting," Harry jokes, a drop of sweat going down his neck. "How are you gonna get enough hours in the day for that?"

She looks down to her food uncomfortably. "I'll manage," she responds, stabbing her peas with a fork.

After that it's only a question of watching her on the map for a few days while ignoring the weird happenings around him. Until one day, he goes to the empty classroom she favors under his invisibility cloak. His eyes widen as that familiar feeling sets into his chest at the same time that Hermione appears from out of nowhere, holding a time-turner in her hand. Fuck , he thinks.

He never thought that the magic of the ritual he did to travel to the past and the magic of a time-turner would interact like this, but he should've. Time is a delicate thing, after all. 

He just has to hope that he doesn't break reality too much.

It escalates quickly after that.

He makes a point of paying careful attention to himself and his surroundings after that. Every time Hermione uses her time-turner near Harry something... weird happens. Not just the strange feeling of deja vù anymore.

Time slows down around him. He remembers things before he does them, or forgets them right after they happen only for the memory to come back hours later. It had been awful having to experience the boggart lesson twice. The sight of Draco's lifeless body still provokes a visceral reaction in him, and his magic had attacked the creature taking the blond's form before Harry could actually process what he was doing. Thankfully Harry had been one of the last ones to take on the boggart, so the lesson wasn't disrupted too badly.

On one notable occasion, time actually freezes around him. His magic still works, so he makes the best use of the situation and gets rid of Ravenclaw's diadem in the Room of Requirement with basilisk venom while it can't fight back. Without it anchoring the curse of the Defense professor position he can relax a bit about Remus' career and secret. He could really do without that added stress.

Because that's another thing, every time Hermione gets an extra hour of time, Harry feels the extra time on his body despite not having exactly lived it.

For once, he's glad that she isn't using the time-turner to get some extra resting hours. He feels exhausted all the time, those hours pile up fast.

He tries to chalk it up to stress, but around him people start to notice. He's snappish, short tempered, and less likely to put his 'nice' mask on. Fortunately, Draco never witnesses one of his off moments. He actually helps Harry feel better, always has.

They've been closer than ever this year. Once that first night happened, Harry convinced Draco that it was better to keep sleeping together, y'know, to avoid nightmares, of course. Draco was too happy to agree, so now one of the beds in their room simply collects dust.

That's the thing about Draco. He's clingy, but he likes to pretend he isn't. He won't ask to hold Harry's hand, but he will not let go if Harry grabs his first. So Harry resolves to keep giving him openings and rejoices when Draco eagerly takes them. It's a great system, in his opinion.

Of course, as much as they'd like to, they can't spend all their time together, which is how he finds himself in Remus' office the night before Halloween and the first Hogsmeade visit.

No one is pretending that Remus isn't one of Harry's guardians, but the two of them really haven't spent much time together ever since term started. So Harry, despite feeling tired after Hermione added a few hours to their day, decides to join him for tea.

"Are you feeling well, Harry?" he asks with a gentle voice.

Harry lets out a sigh. He's decidedly not, but does he really want to get into it right now?

He decides to go with a half truth.

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "It's just hard adjusting back to having so many people around all the time. The extra classes and homework aren't much help, either, and you know, tomorrow…" he adds for good measure.

Remus looks at him sympathetically, and demonstrates that he’s not a fan of hard conversations by saying. "Not a fan of crowds, then?"

Harry shakes his head. "It's easier when Draco's around. I can just focus on him, then, but I don't think I'll ever get used to crowds. The Dursleys didn't like bringing me out anywhere, so I guess I never got accustomed to them"

Remus gives him a strange look. "You don't talk much about them," he mentions.

He shrugs. "Not much to say, really. I didn't like them," Harry lets himself admit. "They really didn't like me. I survived, they didn't. End of story."

The comment must surprise Remus, because the next thing he says is "That's no way to speak of the dead, cub," with a disappointed tinge to his voice.

The comment pisses Harry off.

"And forcing a child to live in the cupboard under the stairs and calling him a freak is no way to treat a child, but they didn't care about that, either," he spits out. 

And then proceeds to immediately regret it. Harry cringes as Remus opens his mouth, probably to apologize, as is his usual response to everything, but then Snape interrupts their conversation to bring Remus his wolfsbane potion.

If Harry wasn't having a bad day before he definitely is now. Snape doesn't hesitate to make nasty comments about Remus, Sirius, Harry, and his dad for the few moments he's in the room, but thankfully Harry manages to hold his tongue until he leaves with a thinly veiled remark about putting down wild beasts.

"Fucking arsehole," Harry mutters under his breath.

"Harry!" Remus scolds.

"What? He is!" He exclaims.

"He's your professor," Remus reminds him.

"I'll treat him like a professor when he actually teaches us something,” Harry snorts. “Did you know that this week he vanished my almost finished potion because apparently 'I forgot to add billywig stings'? We were making a hair growth potion! Those don't even include billywigs stings!"

Remus winces. "Severus… is a complicated man, Harry. You shouldn't let him get to you."

Harry doesn't stop the roll of his eyes. "You guys bullied him so he hates me, I know. It's still not my fault. He's an adult, he shouldn't be taking out his problems on kids."

Remus' eyes widen. "Who told you that?" he asks.

"I asked around," Harry answers vaguely. Then, he decides he might as well go for broke. "I also know he was mum's best friend until he called her a mudblood and joined the Death Eaters, by the way. Not very inspiring of respect, if you ask me."

Remus pales.

"It's more complicated than that," he tries.

"Why do you defend him? Because he changed sides?" Harry asks, exasperated. "Did he actually stop believing in pureblood supremacy, or did he just feel guilty because his Lord killed mum?"

Remus doesn't say anything, so Harry keeps going.

"—Because he still makes fun of muggleborn firsties who don't know how to hold a quill properly or how to prepare ingredients they've never seen in their lives."

Remus looks down at the potion in his hand, a guilty look on his face.

"And he's still afraid of you, despite the fact that you treat him nicely when he doesn't deserve it."

That makes Remus freeze. "Why would he be afraid of me?" he asks awkwardly.

And that's just—no. Harry's tired of tiptoeing around the issue.

"You know that I know you're a werewolf, right?" he says, trying a calm tone.

Remus, if possible, gets even paler. "What? How did—" he sputters before he can finish his sentence.

Harry sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I've always known, and it wasn't too hard to confirm, really," Hermione had done it with little to none evidence when Harry was thirteen. Secrets like these have ways of coming out.

"It doesn't really change anything for me, you know? You're still my awkward step-godfather with an awful sense of fashion," Harry tells him, as he stands up to leave his office. "You should worry instead about finding someone to take over your lessons around the full moon. You don't want Snape taking over and assigning us essays on how to kill werewolves that you'll have to grade."

He's still in a mood as he walks towards the dungeon and the dorms, but he has to stop as he hears something coming from one of the most empty hallways.

There are plenty of portraits all around the castle, but aside from the human ones, no one really pays them much mind. Harry has found that the ones with animals are a goldmine, especially those with snakes. No one ever thinks to hide their secrets from a landscape painting, but they ignore that snakes are very adept at both camouflage and gossip, much to Harry's luck.

The one in the portrait in front of him exits his hiding place as soon as he sees Harry, excited for a chance to converse with him.

"Young one! Are human ratsss more deliciousss than regular ratsss?" he asks, making Harry pause . "I sssaw one passsing acrosss a while ago. He looked very tasssty," the painted animal says.

"Did you just say human rat?" Harry asks. "Can you explain?"

"The human wasss sssneaking around the cassstle, but when he heard noisssesss he turned into a rat! I bet he tassstesss good ." he says.

"I have no idea if they're tastier, but if you see him again, would you tell me?" Harry asks.

The snake agrees, and they make short conversation for a while, but soon after, Harry says his goodbyes.

As he walks away, he looks at the empty hallways around him. "What are you playing at, Wormtail?"

The next day it's their first Hogsmeade visit. Harry and Remus awkwardly make their way to Sirius' rented house, neither of them speaking a word. Harry thinks that he probably shouldn't have dropped so many things on Remus yesterday, but he doesn't really regret it that much, if he's being honest.

He stands by everything he said about Snape, and he's seen the lengths Remus goes to hide his condition, Harry just wants him to know that he's on his corner in that matter.

But he also knows how it feels when someone seemingly knows things about you you thought you hid well. Coming out as bisexual in his first life had been a whole ordeal. He had not appreciated it when Hermione had looked at him with kind eyes and just said “We know”. Remus will probably be feeling vulnerable for a while.

Sirius, oblivious to the turmoil between his two favorite people, drags them both into a hug as soon as he opens the door of the rented house. Harry awkwardly hugs back while Remus does the same on his side.

“So! Tell me everything! How has Hogwarts been?” Sirius asks.

What proceeds is a stilted conversation as Remus and Harry keep interrupting each other and stopping halfway through their sentences to let the other speak.

Sirius tries to salvage the situation with humor, but his attempts fall short.

“Have there been any news about Pettigrew?” Harry asks once he can’t take the small talk anymore.

His guardians trade glances.

“There was supposedly a sighting nearby, but nothing has been confirmed,” Sirius explains.

"I hope they get him fast," Harry sighs , despite knowing that it won't happen. "I can't stand having all those dementors around all the time."

Sirius grimaces. "I know what you mean, pup," he admits. "They don't get too close to the town, but I still can feel the cold sometimes."

"What's it like? Living around them for years at a time," Harry asks him, surprising himself. "Whenever I get near one I just start remembering… bad stuff," he finishes, not looking at them.

Remus clears his throat loudly. "Harry, I don't think that's—"

"It's like being out of place, out of time, all the time," Sirius interrupts, voice cool. "You start forgetting that you were ever happy. You forget where you are. Who you are. I remember crying for mother to stop, but she wasn't there. She never was…" he trails off, looking at nothing.

"Sorry," Harry cringes.

Sirius shakes his head, as if that will send the bad memories away. "Don't worry about it, you got me out. Everything's fine now!" he says, way too cheerful.

Harry doesn't buy it. He doubts Remus does either.

"Tell me, have you played any good pranks lately?" he asks, changing the subject with a conspiratorial tone.

Harry smirks. "Well…" he starts, but then he sees Remus' look and stops himself.

"Yeah?" Sirius asks.

"Nothing," Harry replies, but Sirius follows his gaze, noticing Remus.

"Ah, don't worry about Moony here, he's not in professor mode right now. He won't get you in trouble," Sirius says, slapping Remus' back.

“Sirius…” Remus says at the same time that Harry goes “No, no, it’s nothing.”

If anything, the day gets more awkward after that.

Harry is the first to leave, mentioning that Draco is waiting for him at the Three Broomsticks. As soon as the door closes behind him he can hear the voices of Sirius and Remus arguing inside the house.

“What was that about?” he can hear his godfather say.

Harry winces. He probably could have handled that better.

The Slytherin quidditch team somehow manages to put off their first quidditch game of the season until a few weeks before the holidays start. Not that Harry's complaining, he was not looking forward to sitting out in the middle of a storm surrounded by dementors, no matter how excited Draco was at the prospect of playing again after having missed so many matches last year.

So when the actual game starts, he's prepared to defend himself against the creatures should they get too close to the stands, of course, but what he’s not ready for is to see Draco fly into a sea of black dementor robes as he searches for the snitch high up in the air.

Is this how Ron and Hermione had felt all those years ago watching him play? Harry feels like his heart is going to leave his chest as the dementors get close to Draco. He’s hoping his own experience won’t repeat itself with him, but unfortunately he’s not in luck, because soon Draco is free falling in the air and Harry knows there’s no way he can both cast a patronus and stop his fall at the same time. 

He's awake, but he doesn't scream as he pummels down to the harsh ground. Harry blames the permanent headache he seems to have for the recklessness of his actions. Without stopping to think about it he turns into his animagus form in front of the whole crowd and flies towards Draco's falling form.

He’s aware that he doesn't have the strength to be able to lift him as a raven, so he instead goes towards the falling broom before it can get too far away. With a swift motion, he turns back into a human midair and mounts it, diving down below Draco and letting his magic run wild and envelop them as they near the ground.

It doesn’t completely stop his fall, at the speed that they're going the broom simply can't handle their combined weight, but at least it slows them down enough for Harry to wrap Draco in his arms, curling himself around Draco's body to protect him before they both hit the floor. 

He hears more than he feels their impact as they hit the ground. The broom under them cracks as it makes contact with the floor, and for a moment Harry's afraid the cracking sound it makes it's actually coming from either his or Draco's bones.

When he opens his eyes he doesn't see the stands, or the field, or anything actually, just a pitch black surrounding them that Harry knows instinctively is made of his own magic.

"I.. What happened?" he asks, dazed.

"You fell," Harry says desperately, wrapping the blond into a hug and letting himself pull back on his magic.

"Are you okay? Does anything hurt?" Harry asks, putting their foreheads together, his hands on Draco's cheeks while the blond holds onto his arms.

"Yeah, yeah," he rasps. "How did you…"

"Animagus form, I'm a raven," Harry explains. "I'm not registered, but I panicked."

"Gryffindor," Draco mocks airily.

"Only for you," Harry replies.

He then looks around, and grimaces when he notices the crowd around them has gone eerily quiet.

"Think we can get away without a trip to the infirmary this time?" Harry asks, only half joking, but it manages to make Draco's lips curl up in the ghost of a smile.

But it turns out that they can not, in fact, avoid the infirmary. Soon after they've been given beds to rest in, they hear the commotion as Sirius gets into a verbal fight with Dumbledore. Remus and Professor Tonks are there also, but noticeably more subdued, and at some point, someone must have called Narcissa, because her voice joins the discussion quickly.

In the midst of the chaos, Harry slips out of his bed and joins Draco in his. 

"At least there wasn't a basilisk involved this time around," he says lightheartedly, putting an arm around Draco's frame.

He lets his head fall into Harry's shoulder as he answers. "Yeah, only a few dozen dementors this time around," Draco pouts. "Child's play, really."

Harry sighs. "I could teach you how to cast the patronus charm, if you'd like," he offers.

Draco turns sharply to look into his eyes. "You would?" he asks, grey eyes shining hopefully.

"For you? Anything," Harry answers truthfully, meeting his gaze directly.

They stare at each other for a few moments before Draco finally shies away, cheeks burning red.

"Thank you," he says softly. He then clears his throat in an attempt to sound casual, but Harry can still hear the affection in his voice. It makes him smile.

Sirius, Remus, Andromeda, and Narcissa come speak to them after, and thankfully neither of them says anything about their bed arrangements.

"Well, looks like the raven is out of the bag," Sirius says with a soft smile. "What was that after you transformed?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Harry admits. "I'd call it accidental magic, but that wasn't entirely it," he shrugs.

It had been a desperate attempt at protecting himself and Draco. He hadn't told his magic to do anything, just had pointed towards the problem and let it do its thing freely. 

"Well, I'm glad you did," Sirius tells him. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

Remus smiles and puts a hand on his shoulder, but he looks tense as he does so.

Harry lets himself be hugged, and soon after it's only him and Draco as they make their way towards the Slytherin dorms.

"Mother is taking me to stay over with her and her sister for Christmas," Draco says.

"Professor Tonks, right?"

Draco nods. "They used to be estranged, apparently, but ever since I stayed with you and cousin Sirius she decided that she didn't want to lose any more family."

Harry hums in answer. "Maybe we'll see each other, then. If we can convince them to have a full Black family reunion."

"I'd like that," Draco says.

"I'll make it happen," Harry replies.

He will. He's been known to do even the impossible before, and for Draco? He'd do even more.

Chapter Text

Not much happens before the holidays come, and when they finally arrive, Harry lets out a relieved breath. He doesn't know if Hermione is bringing the time-turner with her to her parents' house, but he knows that she won't use it regardless, and Harry will be too far away from it for it to affect him anyway.

When they get to Grimmauld Place, the first thing he does is throw himself in his bed and sleep like the dead for the rest of the day. They had considered spending the holidays in Sirius' Hogsmeade house, but Harry had really missed his own home, and he learned that his puppy eyes still work wonders on his godfather.

Harry wakes up from his slumber just in time for dinner, and doesn't say anything when both Sirius and Remus run one hand through his mess of hair in greeting.

He and Remus have found an equilibrium in their relationship. They're both pretending that nothing's wrong between them, and it's been working well enough for him. Remus has been trying to compensate for trying to avoid Harry in the castle by being more physically affectionate, like Sirius and Harry usually are, and it's been nice.

During dinner, Harry asks about inviting over the Tonkses, Draco, and his mother for a Christmas dinner, and is pleasantly surprised when Sirius eagerly agrees. He and Andromeda have been exchanging letters ever since he stormed Hogwarts after the Chamber of Secrets incident and he's excited to spend time with some of the few family members he has left that he doesn't actively despise.

Narcissa isn't a hard sell either. Draco grew on Harry's guardians during his stay over the summer and even though they're not technically on the best of terms with his mother they won't deny Harry the chance to have his friend over.

Just like that, the first Black Family reunion in over a decade is planned.

When the night falls, Harry's too wired up to actually sleep, so he calls for Kreacher to apparate him away to the ministry. It's always a nice surprise to learn they're exactly as incompetent as Harry expects them to be. Because, really? No wards against house elf magic? Harry shakes his head.

He wanders through the empty halls under his invisibility cloak, expertly avoiding the security guards posted all over the place. He doesn't hide his sneer when he realizes most of them are asleep on the job. That'll be something to fix if he decides to become Head Auror.

He looks over every office until he finds the one he's looking for. Before Corban Yaxley died in his timeline, his records showed that he was a bit of an alcoholic and he favored a certain brand of liquor, and as Harry looks through his desk drawers, he finds an opened bottle hiding under some papers along with a few empty ones. 

Harry whistles as he sees the label. He's not exactly a wine connoisseur, but his Draco always enjoyed the finer things in life, and some of his knowledge passed on to Harry through osmosis.

Someone like Yaxley doesn't deserve to enjoy this kind of drink. What he deserves is to rot in Azkaban for using his position in the Ministry to spy for Voldemort and help him take it over afterwards.

He's not marked, can't be because his position in the ministry would be compromised otherwise, but he still killed and tortured for the dark lord, and used his post to help free other death eaters that were marked. His death won't weigh on Harry's consciousness. 

With that in mind, Harry slips a couple drops of the potion he brought with him in the bottle, that's all he'll need for it to work. The wine doesn't change colors as the poison mixes with the alcohol and he hopes its flavor doesn't change either. If it does he'll probably get a bad grade in his homework on undetectable poisons come January.

Or, thinking about it, Snape will probably give him a bad grade anyway. 

After methodically putting everything back in its pace, he leaves the building with a spring in his step. He doesn't call Kreacher again, just apparates back home directly into his bed, ready for a good night of sleep.

This killing Death Eaters business is so easy.

The dinner ends up not being actually a dinner, but rather a brunch. The Malfoys are meeting with a bunch of their allies' families in the afternoon, and Mrs. Malfoy cannot afford to miss that if she wants to retain her status in her friend's group. Draco, as their heir, is also required to attend that, but it's obvious from the letter he writes to Harry that the blond would rather stay with him in Grimmauld Place.

The Tonkses are the first ones to arrive, coming out of the floo at the same time. Both father and daughter trip down as they come out of the flames, and Andromeda, when she sees her family covered in ashes on the floor, can only sigh in resignation.

Sirius helps Ted up while Remus does the same with Tonks. The looks she gives him as she takes his hand don't escape Harry's notice, and he has to physically stop himself from snorting at her obvious attraction.

Introductions are made and soon they're sitting down, chatting away until the floo flares up again, letting in Narcissa and Draco, dressed up in their nicest casual robes.

Harry is the first one to get up to greet them, giving Mrs. Malfoy a kiss on the back of the hand and a hug to Draco that lasts probably longer than it is appropriate.

They eventually separate when Mrs. Malfoy clears her throat, both of them slightly red in the cheeks.

The day isn't as much of a disaster as Harry expected it to be, and he's not just saying that because he spends the entire meal playing footsie with Draco under the table. Mrs. Malfoy doesn't make a single disparaging comment about Ted being muggleborn or about his muggle parents when he brings them up.

Draco asks the man a lot of questions about life in the muggle world and she doesn't try to stop her son once. Harry helps Ted answer a couple of questions when it becomes clear that the man has lived as a wizard for most of his life, and conversation flows easily from there on.

The other side of the table it's a completely different situation. He'll admit it's somewhat  funny seeing how Tonks' eyes go dark when they fall on Remus. The werewolf is either oblivious or doing his best to remain unaffected by the heat of her gaze, but it makes Sirius grumpy, and he spends a good portion of the day pouting.

An innuendo too many has his godfather suddenly standing up and making an excuse to leave for the kitchen. He looks at Remus over the table, but his guardian is distracted by something Tonks is saying.

Harry gets up and takes matters into his own hands.

When he enters the kitchen Sirius has his back to him. He's pouring himself a glass of firewhiskey and downing it in one go.

Harry sighs.

"This wouldn't be happening if you two actually told people you're dating, you know?" he tells Sirius, startling him into dropping his glass.

Sirius starts coughing, spilling his glass all over the floor. "I don't—Merlin, I don't know what you're talking about, pup," Sirius says unconvincingly after emptying his lungs of liquid.

Harry raises an eyebrow at him, and his godfather just looks back at him with a defeated look.

"It's—"

"Complicated?" Harry interrupts.

Sirius grimaces, but nods in response.

"How long has it been now?" Harry asks, casting a wandless cleaning charm on the mess Sirius made.

"It started… back during our fourth year?" he guesses, running a hand through his long hair. "My memories of Hogwarts aren't very clear, but we were very on and off, never called each other boyfriends or anything," he admits, looking down.

"Oh," Harry answers. "I assumed you two were practically married. A while ago I called Remus my step-godfather," he reveals.

Sirius smirks.

"You should talk to him. Make sure you're both on the same page so this— " he says, waving his hand over Sirius' figure. "—doesn't happen again.'

Sirius winces, but nods in agreement. "You're probably right."

When they get back to the table, the topic of conversation seems to be Tonks' Auror training. About how her mentor was assigned to look over the case of a poisoned ministry worker.

"Who was it? Is he still alive?" Draco asks, morbid curiosity poking through his polite mask.

Tonks shakes her head. "He passed away last night. No one could identify the potion they slipped him," she admits.

Harry holds his smirk. Outstanding , he thinks.

"His name was something like Cobra… Corban?… Yar—something, I wasn’t supposed to be listening in."

"Corban Yaxley," Narcissa whispers, turning all the eyes in the room towards her.

"Did you know him, Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry asks.

"Call me Narcissa, Harry, darling," she tells him, before shaking her head. "He was one of my husband's old... colleagues," she settles on.

Harry nods in understanding.

Tonks grimaces. "Really? I should probably tell Mad-Eye that," she whispers to herself.

Narcissa nods. "It's fine, that knowledge cannot hurt us anymore," she says, meaning her and Draco.

The room goes quiet after that, and Harry takes it upon himself to break the silence.

"Tonks, do you know if there has been any progress in the search for Wormtail?" he asks.

"Wormtail?"

"Peter Pettigrew," Remus corrects.

"Ah, Technically I'm not supposed to know about that…" she says, before giving them a conspiratorial look. "— but , a few days ago there was a call saying that someone had broken into one of the houses at Hogsmeade but only took food from the pantry and some potion ingredients before leaving again."

"That has got to be him, right?" Draco asks.

"That's what they think, but there's no conclusive evidence. No magic was cast in the place, and they didn't find any places for a rat to sneak into the house."

"Peter knows how to pick locks," Sirius reveals suddenly.

"Really?" she asks. "Didn't imagine him to be the type."

"We all tried to learn, it was supposed to be useful for pranks, but only he and I managed it," his godfather says.

Harry turns to look at Remus. "Ah, This was during our third year. James was busy trying to convince Lily to go to Hogsmeade with him at the time, and I had other things in mind," he says sheepishly.

Harry doesn't push it.

The conversation eventually moves to other topics, and Harry takes the opportunity to drag Draco away to his room.

"I know I won't see you again until after Christmas, and I wanted to give you this early so I could see you try it on," Harry tells him, drawing a small box from one of his drawers.

He presents it to Draco, who takes it without hesitation.

"I love it," he says.

Harry chuckles. "You haven't even opened it," he tells him.

Draco shakes his head. "You're two for two on beautiful Christmas gifts for me," he tells Harry, and then, his smile dulls a little. "I never got to thank you for the last one."

Last year, back when Draco wasn't speaking to Harry, he had sent him a Christmas gift anyway. A cloak pin modeled after a dragon trying to bite its own tail.

He hadn't put any charms on it besides one to make his cloaks repel dust. He hadn't seen the need when Draco had never taken off the bracelet Harry gave him in his first year.

"You knew that was me?" he asks. After all, he didn't put his name anywhere in the package.

Draco huffs and rolls his eyes. "How could I not? Who else besides my parents would spend so much money on jewelry for me without trying to claim credit for it?"

Harry grimaces. "Too much?" he asks, now self conscious.

"Nope. I loved both of them, and I'm sure I'll love this too," he affirms opening the box.

He gasps when he sees the silver butterfly. Its wings are encrusted with tiny quartz that make it shine under the light. The thing looks so delicate in its box, like a strong breeze will cause it to fly away, but Harry knows there's several charms on it to stop it from getting even a scratch.

When Draco moves to touch it the butterfly flaps its wings once, slightly startling Draco and drawing a smile out of him.

"A butterfly?" he asks.

Harry nods, taking it from his hands. With deft fingers, he moves Draco until they're both facing the mirror in his room, and then he gently lifts his hair and holds it together with his gift.

"It's a hair clip," he explains. "I noticed that your hair was getting on your face while you did your homework."

Draco looks at their reflections in the mirror. Harry's taller than he is now, if only by a single inch. It's a new experience for both of them. It feels correct. When his eyes leave Harry he proceeds to admire the way the butterfly's wings move slightly as he does the same.

"I was planning on getting a haircut soon," Draco mutters, entranced.

Harry shakes his head and puts his hands on Draco's hips.

"Don't. It looks good like this" Harry says. "I didn't know that it could get wavy like that."

"It used to be curlier," Draco admits. "Mother said it reminded her of her sisters' and I could tell it made her sad, so I asked for hair straightening potions and charms. Pretended that I just wanted to look more like father, but now that they've made up..." he trails off.

"You look just like Draco," Harry assures him, moving a stray strand away from his face and putting it behind his ear. "It suits you."

"You think so?" Draco asks shyly, turning towards him to lean into his hand.

"You're beautiful," Harry lets himself admit, and rejoices when Draco turns that lovely shade of pink in return.

He looks away, avoiding Harry's gaze. "You're just saying that."

Harry shakes his head fervently, and uses his hand to turn Draco's face towards him. They're so close now. He could just lean in and—

"Boys?" The voice of Narcissa Malfoy interrupts his thoughts.

She's standing on the doorway of his room. How long she's been there is impossible to say.

“Mother!” Draco yelps, taking a step backwards, rather ungracefully.

The reality of the situation doesn't escape her. She looks at Harry with sharp eyes before speaking to her son.

"It's time to say goodbye, Draco. Go ahead to the living room, I'll be right behind you."

He looks hesitantly between the two of them, but ultimately Draco just nods shyly at Harry before making his way out of the bedroom.

When he leaves, the room becomes tense.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he says.

She doesn't tell him to call her Narcissa.

"I never thanked you for saving my son's life, did I? I got so caught up in the moment that I forgot my manners, so I'd like to take the opportunity to do that now. Thank you, Harry."

Harry shakes his head. "There's no need. I didn't do it for gratitude."

Her expression warms. "I know. You're a sweet boy, perhaps a troublesome one, but I get the feeling that you will take care of Draco in any situation you manage to drag him to."

Harry hesitates before speaking. "I'll take care of him for as long as he allows me to," it's the truth, if perhaps oddly worded.

She seems to appreciate it, nevertheless.

"Make sure that you do. Lucius… He's not the man I once married. The way he's been behaving lately is so unlike himself, I can only suspect it's because of Him ," she tells him. "And if I'm correct, our family will be put in a difficult situation."

"You could always stay here, if the worst comes to pass."

She shakes her head, as if amused by his naivety.

"I made my bed many years ago, Harry. I can do little besides lie in it now, but if there comes a time when the Dark Lord rises again, I don't wish for Draco to be anywhere near him," she explains. "So I'm asking: If there comes a time when I'm no longer capable of protecting him, will you do it in my place?"

Harry's left speechless for a moment, but he recovers in time to answer fiercely. "I'd have done it even if you didn't ask," he says.

"Then it seems we're on the same page. I thank you and your guardians for your hospitality," she says, walking away from him. "If there's anything I can do to help and it's within my power, don't hesitate to ask."

Harry doesn't speak as she leaves the room. He doesn't want to admit it, but there's a very real thing that he could really use her help with, Bellatrix's vault is still off-limits to him, and the thought of breaking into the bank again doesn't appeal much to him.

"Oh, and Harry?"

He's pulled out of his thoughts by Mrs. Malfoy when she makes one final stop on the doorway, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

He looks at her, attentive, but unflinching.

"I expect you to court my son properly before stealing his first kiss like a barbarian."

Harry blushes. "I—"

"Worry not," she reassures him. "You already have my blessing. That's step one."

And then she finally leaves.

Knowing that he really can't count on Mrs. Malfoy as an ally is a hard blow, but he knows he can use her for one thing if it comes to that. 

She saved his life once, in a past life. She did it for Draco, she lied to Voldemort's face for a chance at giving her son a future, and that's something he can respect.

But that was then, and this is now. Harry wishes Draco wouldn't have to lose both his parents, but if she's dead set on standing by her husband there's little Harry can do to dissuade her.

At least she's aware that the safest place for Draco to be is by Harry's side.

He tries to put the war thoughts out of his mind, looking instead for a book on pureblood courting he can use to woo Draco.

He looks through the Black library first, of course, but comes out empty-handed. He debates just asking Kreacher to buy one for him, but decides against it, wanting to have some fun instead.

So, ignoring the locking and silencing charms in place, he bursts the door of Sirius and Remus' room wide open.

The two men yelp and scramble to cover up their naked forms, but Harry doesn't flinch.

"I need a book on pureblood courting," Harry exclaims as he steps inside the room.

"Learn to fucking knock, Harry!" Sirius complains at the same time that Remus exclaims. "This is not what it looks like!"

Harry gives them an unimpressed look. "Oh, I'm sorry. Was this supposed to be another secret?" Harry asks sarcastically.

Sirius gives him a questioning look.

"Somehow, he figured out about my furry little problem," Remus admits.

"And you didn't have any problems with it?" Sirius turns to Harry to ask.

"Of course not," is Harry's response.

"See! I told you he wouldn't!" Sirius cheers to Remus, grinning at him and Harry. "He's a good one, our pup."

Harry feels his cheeks blush at the word ' our'.

Remus doesn't seem to register it. He just sags down and turns to Harry "What is it you need?" he asks with a resigned tone.

Harry shamelessly pushes on.

"Narcissa Malfoy gave me permission to start courting Draco and I have no idea what that entails, so I'm recruiting you two for help," Harry explains, bouncing between them on the bed.

His guardians trade a look behind him.

"Don't you think you're too young to start, uh, courting?" Remus asks.

Harry rolls his eyes. "I have no idea, that's why I need the books to learn if it's too soon. Keep up, Moony."

Sirius snorts. "Yeah, keep up, Moony. Draco's kind of a priss, isn't he? I bet he'll love it."

"He's a right snob, but it's endearing," Harry replies.

"If you say so," Sirius answers, unbelieving.

"The man who only drinks homemade coffee with imported grains doesn't get an opinion on the matter," Harry tells him matter-of-factly.

Sirius sputters. "I—It's not my fault no one in England knows how to make a good cuppa!"

Remus stops their arguing by clearing his throat.

"We'll go to Diagon Alley before New Year and get you a book on it, yes?" he says, before thinking about it. "And we'll get Padfoot a bone to chew on, too. See if he can finally leave my shoes alone." he adds.

"Yes, dear," Sirius tells him, a shit eating grin on his face.

Remus, exasperated, turns to look at Harry.

"Yes, dear," Harry repeats.

Sirius' cackles can be heard all over the house as Harry leaves the room.

They never actually manage to go to Diagon Alley together, though.

The next morning Sirius comes out of his room alone, looking down, and immediately goes towards the kitchen to grab a bottle of firewhiskey.

He sits on the couch and turns on the telly before taking a swig straight from the bottle.

"Everything okay?" Harry asks hesitantly. "Where's Remus?"

Sirius brings his knees up to his chest, hugging them without taking his eyes off the morning cartoons.

"Apparently, a witness saw Wormtail near the dungeons of the castle, but he turned into a rat and ran away, so they called him," he says bitterly.

Harry frowns. "Shouldn't they call the aurors for that?" he asks.

"The witness was a portrait," Sirius says without explaining, but Harry nods in understanding. Magical objects aren't seen as reliable witnesses, so aurors can't go after those leads. He'd worked on a couple of cases where that had come up.

"I thought it was a bullshit policy back when I was in the corps, but pureblood families don't want to be ratted out by their own portraits so they made up that rule," Sirius spits. "And of course, Dumbledore wants to use Moony's nose to track the rat."

Harry doesn't smile at the way he says the headmaster's name, but it's a near thing. Instead, he sighs.

"He could've said something. I could have lent him the Marauders' Map."

Sirius' eyes widen. "You have that? How?" he asks.

Harry nods. "The Weasley twins got it from Filch's office, and I traded them a couple of favors for it."

"Can I…"

Harry wordlessly summons it, and hands it on to his godfather, who doesn't hesitate to say the password and activate it.

Remus' dot is in Dumbledore's office with Snape, and Sirius actually growls when he sees his name.

He takes to carrying the map with him around the house, it reminds Harry of the way he acted back in sixth year, tracking Draco's every move. Harry recognizes that it's probably unhealthy, but he's not one to call a kettle black.

Sirius deserves to have some comfort, especially considering that Remus doesn't come back home for the rest of the break.

The nights are cold in Grimmauld Place.

Chapter Text

Ever since the school year began, Harry's been trying to do more light magic in order to find some  balance in his magic. Turning long baths into cleansing rituals by adding a few ingredients and crystals, drinking tea made with some of Neville's best herbs, casting superfluous light spells whenever he gets the chance, all in the hopes that his darkening magic core will go back to the gray he prefers.

The patronus lessons he's been having with Draco are also supposed to help with that. The spell leaves him winded out but at least he doesn't run the risk of passing out because of it anymore. It's progress. 

They start out the lessons as soon as they get back to school due to Draco's insistence. The gloomy atmosphere the dementors around the school bring is starting to get to him, and Harry is more than happy to spend some extra one on one time with him in the Room of Requirements.

The blond still can't cast a corporeal Patronus, but Harry knows that he's getting close. He's so proud already.

Harry's making his way to meet up with him for one of their lessons when he comes across Lavender Brown, who is walking around the hallway with a lost look on her face.

"Brown? Are you okay?" he asks the dazed Gryffindor.

She doesn't acknowledge his words, and for a moment, Harry wonders if this is another side effect of Hermione's time-turner. He doesn't feel like that's it, though. His body is not answering the way it usually does to time magic, so Harry brings out his wand and casts a finite on the girl.

It seems to snap her out of whatever daze she's in. Her eyes blink rapidly, adjusting to her surroundings, and then her sight focuses on him.

"Harry Potter!" she squeals.

Harry can't hide the grimace he makes. "Just Harry's fine," he says. "Are you okay? Do you need to go to the infirmary?"

She looks at him with a confused look. "Infirmary? Why would I need that?"

"You were just… Nevermind," he tells her, shaking his head. "Be careful around the castle. Have a good evening, Brown."

He attempts to resume his walk towards the Room of Requirements, but Lavender stops him from advancing by grabbing the back of his robe. Harry almost topples over.

"Harry, wait! Before you go, Professor Trelawney gave me this a couple of days ago," she says, pulling a piece of parchment from her bag and handing it to him. "She said that I'd have an encounter with a 'green-eyed hero', and that he'd want to see this."

Harry tries to hide the roll of his eyes. "I really don't think that's—" His sentence is cut off by the image in front of him.

There's a drawing in the parchment.

A drawing of Draco.

His body is on the floor, and his chest is ripped open into pieces, his blood drawn with black ink spilled all over the floor. For a moment Harry thinks it's an image from his past life, from the time Harry cast that sectumsempra at Draco without knowing what it did.

He almost killed him, then. It was only luck that Snape was around to cast a countercurse that literally only he knew.

But upon closer inspection, that's not what the drawing is depicting. There are leaves and branches around him. There hadn't been any in the bathroom during Harry and Draco's duel.

Which means either Lavender is playing a really fucked up prank on him, or this is something that Trewlaney saw . Something that will happen in the future.

The parchment in his hand bursts into flames as soon as the thought crosses Harry's mind.

The sudden  fire startles Lavender, who hides behind his back, clutching at his robes.

"Sorry about that," Harry says. "Did you…?"

"Oh, I didn't actually see what it was. Professor Trewlaney said it would bring bad luck if the wrong person saw it."

"Right…"

Lavender gives him a strange look, before putting on a determined face. "By the way, Harry. I wanted to ask if you would like to—"

But whatever she was going to say is interrupted by a familiar voice shouting for him.

"Harry! I've been looking for…you," Draco says, but he slows down when he sees he has company.

"Who's this?" he asks icily.

"I'm Lavender Brown," she introduces herself cheerily, a hand extended. "We have muggle studies together."

"Oh, that's right," he answers, firmly shaking her hand, a smile on his face that Harry recognizes immediately, because it's one hundred percent fake.

"We share potions too, don't we?" he asks. "You’re always so relaxed! I wish I could take life as easy as you do."

Lavender doesn't seem to catch on to the insult, she just moves a strand of hair away from her face and behind her ear before giggling. "Ugh, potions is such a bore. If it wasn't for Snape always breathing down our necks I would fall asleep right away every class," she jokes.

Draco nods solemnly. "Oh, I totally get it, and you're so brave to admit it, not everyone has the capability to keep up with such a hard class."

Harry coughs to hide his snort. "Well! We better get going," he yelps before Lavender can answer to that, and he drags Draco away. "Goodbye, Brown!"

"Goodbye, Harry!" she calls before they leave her field of view. On his side, Draco frees himself from his grasp and stomps away towards the stairs.

Harry sighs.

So the thing is,

Harry has tried to tone his advances down a little since they came back to school. He doesn't stop sleeping in the same bed as Draco or stop touching him whenever the occasion rises, but he also doesn't ask him out on a date to Hogsmeade or snog his socks off like he desperately wants to.

His body is going through puberty and Harry can clearly tell.

The problem comes because Draco can also tell that Harry is holding himself back from making a move, and he's not pleased about it. Harry wants to put himself and Draco out of their misery, but there is a reason he's holding back.

The book he got on courting states that it's inappropriate to make his move before they both reach fourteen years of age, and although annoying, Harry doesn't plan on doing anything before his birthday.

Back with his Draco, propriety had never been a concern. The very first time they had sex was in a dirty club bathroom after he dragged Harry away from a night alone in his house.

"I'm not letting you stay here just so you can rot in bed like a vegetable," he'd said before casting an aguamenti at him.

Harry had been pissed, but he grudgingly agreed to get up and then Draco had taken him to his first gay bar, where Harry's Gryffindor side made an appearance and made him kiss the blond as soon as he got a beer inside his body.

It was a long time after that before they actually had their first date, and courting gifts had never even crossed his mind.

He had fallen for Draco fast and deeply, and they decided to move with the flow of things, moving together on a whim when Draco's lease was about to end, and getting married because Draco had whispered an absolutely filthy joke in Harry's ear in the middle of a ministry event that made him realize that he never wanted to be with anyone else again.

He dropped down to one knee right there and then, a ring made of pure magic materializing in his hand. Draco had said yes, of course.

The rest is history.

But right now, Draco cares about that stuff. Harry knows Draco's a romantic at heart. He's heard him talking with the girls about a wedding they attended during summer, or the best perfume to attract boys, or the bouquet of flowers someone sent Gemma Farley last year during Lockhart's pink valentine nightmare.

Harry wants to give him the romance of a lifetime. If he gets his way, Harry will be every one of Draco's firsts and lasts, so it's only natural that he wants to give him the best experience possible. He knows Draco's body probably better than the blond himself does at this point, and when they get to that aspect of their relationship, Harry plans to teach him that he's the best he could possibly ask for.

Of course, it's going to be a long while before that happens, and his decision to adhere to tradition has the side effect of having to watch Draco pout whenever he thinks he's going to make a move but stops himself halfway through.

It's torture.

It also doesn't help that Hermione is still using the time-turner to get to all her extra classes, making Harry tired and confused by all the time shenanigans happening around him.

He almost has a heart attack when his vision of all the students is replaced with the versions of themselves from Harry's past life.

He never wants to see George without an ear ever again.

It's lucky that Draco is in class and away from him when it happens, because if he had to see his older self walking and talking again only for it to vanish again he fears something might break inside of him.

So, in short: He can't kiss Draco just yet, the dementors are slowly sucking all their joy away, and the extra time his body is experiencing is driving him to insanity.

Just another regular year at Hogwarts.

He comforts himself in knowing that he's at least not suffering alone. Hermione is on the same boat as he is, dark bags permanently under her eyes and a temper shorter than Colin Creevy become permanent fixtures of her personality.

Harry is almost glad when she finally reaches her breaking point and explodes at Trelawney, leaving divination class with a loud bang that can be heard all the way down in the Runes' classroom.

But then Wormtail finally makes his move.

It all starts when Lavender Brown comes to the Slytherin table during dinner and asks him out on a date to Hogsmeade for the last visit of the year. Draco, by his side, quickly stands up and leaves the Great Hall in a hurry, too fast for Harry to do anything about it.

Harry curses.

"Look, Lavender," he tells her. "I appreciate the invitation, but the only person I ever want to date just left the room, so I'll be going."

He doesn't stay to see her reaction, choosing instead to follow after Draco. The blond seems to have made his way through the school fast, because Harry actually has to pull out the Marauders' Map to find him. He doesn't see him anywhere in it, which is an answer in itself, and with a briskly pace, he goes through the hallways, set on going upstairs towards the seventh floor.

And then he promptly crashes into Hermione.

Her eyes are red and her hair's a mess, and Harry can't stop himself from holding onto her and asking if something's wrong.

She bursts into tears as soon as the words leave Harry's mouth.

"Oh, Harry. I just—I really thought I could do it, but—but it's been so hard, and I've been so alone and—" she breaks off to sob even harder into his robes.

Harry awkwardly wraps his arms around her, walking her towards an empty classroom nearby where she can break down without any nosy bystanders.

Draco will be fine, Harry will make everything right tonight in their room.

Hermione doesn't tell him the truth about the time-turner. She's still too much of a goody-two-shoes to spill a secret that McGonagall herself told her to keep, but she manages to talk around it to explain that she bit more than she could chew.

She spends a lot of time on her story, and Harry makes sure to listen attentively.

She tells him that she didn't want to drop any classes, and that all the extra coursework and lack of time is making her barmy. She punched Ron in the nose today for making a comment about her hair looking like a rat's nest and she feels incredibly guilty for it. The only way Harry finds to calm her down is telling her that they'll look for him so she can apologize.

"Let's go to Gryffindor tower then," he tells her.

"He's not there," she sniffs. "He was mad and left in a hurry after I punched him. I think I embarrassed him," she admits.

Harry represses a sigh. "Can you keep a secret?" he asks.

Hermione gives him such an unimpressed look that actually makes him flinch. He reaches into his bag and pulls out the Marauders' Map. She looks at him skeptically, but her face changes as soon as Harry utters the password.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," Harry intones, touching the Map with his wand.

Her eyes widen as a map of the entire school unfolds in front of her. Harry can tell that she has a million questions on her mind, but he presses forward and tells her to look for Ron's name before she can ask them.

It's not him that they end up finding, though.

"Oh, look! There's Draco," she tells him, and his eyes immediately focus on his dot. He's outside the castle, near Hagrid's cabin and the Whomping Willow, but that's not what Harry focuses on. His eyes move to the space next to him, because Draco is not alone.

Peter Pettigrew is right next to him.

Harry doesn't even stop to think. He just gets up and transforms into his animagus form, flying as fast as he can towards him.

He can vaguely hear Hermione's cries for him but he pays them to mind. He's set on his task. Once he's in the castle grounds, he starts circling the place in the air, mentally cursing himself for leaving the map behind. He goes to the ground and turns back to human, prepared to use his bracelet to locate Draco.

But when he goes to activate it, he realizes that it's already late at night, and the sky is awfully bright.

It's the full moon.

A sickening feeling fills his chest as he realizes he knows exactly where Wormtail is taking Draco.

The bracelet confirms it, but Harry is already running towards the passage below the whomping willow. Hitting the tree with such a strong freezing charm that it stops moving altogether.

In the tunnel between the tree and the Shrieking Shack, Harry crosses paths with the man that betrayed his parents, and without giving him a second to speak, he disarms him.

"What the fuck did you do?" Harry asks Wormtail as he presses his wand against his neck. "Where is Draco Malfoy?"

The man just squeals, trying to back away from Harry, but Harry presses on, not letting him get even an inch away from his wand.

"Harry, Harry… It's not my fault, I promise. The kid—He just saw too much. I swear—Eeh! I didn't do anything wrong. I just panicked!" he cries.

"Where. Is. He?" Harry asks, slower this time.

Wormtail's head moves sideways, looking towards the Shrieking Shack.

"You left him alone with a transformed werewolf!?" Harry growls.

"He hasn't transformed yet!" Wormtail cries. "They're both just… unconscious," he winces at his own words.

"I'll fucking kill you," Harry promises.

"I didn't mean to! He followed me! What else was I supposed to do!?" he whines, Harry's wand pressing deep into his neck.

"Turn around," Harry orders him. "Hands where I can see them."

Harry walks him to the shack, ignoring his multiple protests in the progress, and only removes his wand when they enter the room and he sees Draco curled around himself in a corner of the room, while Remus starts to transform into Moony.

"Draco!" Harry calls, but his head stares ahead limply, like he's in a daze.

Harry looks frantically between him and the crying Moony. Something is terribly wrong. Remus' potion stops the transformation from being painful, but the wolf in front of him is howling in agony like he's burning to death.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," the rat mutters, his voice little more than a whisper.

Harry has no time for him. He grabs his wand and throws up a shield, just in time to stop Moony from turning him into minced meat.

"What the fuck did you do, Wormtail?" Harry asks again, straining against Moony's strength.

"I wasn't supposed to be here, I was supposed to give him the potion and leave," he cries. "No, no, no. I can't die like this."

Harry has no time to process that, because in the next instant Wormtail cries out, somehow pulling out a second wand from his robes. 

"Expelliarmus!" he casts, and Harry's too slow and busy to stop the spell from hitting him.

His wand flies away and his shield falls. Leaving him exposed to Moony's uncontrolled form.

Time seems to slow down as the werewolf leaps at him, and Harry's eyes widen as death looks back at him, but before those sharp claws can make contact with his body, Draco jumps between him and the wolf.

Harry doesn't think, he only reacts. Before Draco touches the floor he casts a powerful wandless blasting hex towards the two marauders, making both the rat and the wolf hit the walls.

Moony ends up moaning in pain on the floor, unable to move, but Peter's body makes a cracking noise when he crashes against the wall mid transformation. He falls limply on the ground without even twitching. Clearly inhuman, clearly dead.

Harry walks towards the dead man, looking for his wand, and realizes that the second wand he pulled out is one that Harry recognizes. In his hands, Wormtail is holding a pair of twin wands.

He was supposed to be the only person to know what happened to Voldemort's wand, but Harry never expected for it to be hidden in Hogwarts. He was unprepared, and now it has cost him.

Picking up his holly wand, he kneels in front of Draco, who stares back at him with glassy eyes. 

"Harry," he whispers.

Harry's throat starts to close. "You're going to be fine," he tells him, even though they both know it's a lie. Moony slashed him deep, cursed wounds all across his chest that Harry knows he won't be able to heal in time.

Draco's blood is already pooling on the floor, Trewlaney's drawing coming to life. Harry tries casting every healing spell he knows, desperately trying to save the love of his life, refusing to believe that his attempts are fruitless.

Draco keeps whispering his name like a prayer. "Harry," "Harry," "Harry," he repeats in a loop, and Harry answers with "I love you," "you'll be fine," "don't leave me again." 

He's going to be fine. He's going to be fine. He's going to be fine, Harry repeats the words in his mind like a mantra, watching his hands darken as the now familiar tendrils of black lightning start to take over. His fingers start to feel numb, but he doesn't stop casting. Draco's gone silent, he can't give up. He won't give up.

"Harry! What's— Draco? What's going on?" Hermione cries, appearing behind him, the Marauders' Map in hand. "Is that— Professor Lupin?"

Harry is not surprised to learn she yet again figured it out, but he has no energy to answer any of her questions. He has something else to focus on.

Draco's on the floor, bleeding out, and if he dies Harry's world will end with him.

There has to be something he can do.

Hermione moves towards him, and the sight of a silver shine makes Harry stand up with such speed that Hermione actually flinches.

He doesn't have time to reassure her. An idea is cvoming to him. Time, all Draco needs is time. Summoning all his strength he pounces towards Hermione and yanks her necklace right out of her neck, taking the time-turner for himself.

He doesn't know what will happen to him when he uses it. His body was already suffering just from being in its near vicinity, but if this is his one chance, he won't falter. Draco Malfoy will not die tonight.

Hermione can only react with shock as Harry steals her time-turner, but before she can protest, Harry is putting it on and turning it back as far as it goes.

Harry lets go, and he burns.

It hurts.

That's the first thing he thinks.

It feels like his skin is being ripped out of his body. Like every atom of his being is being burnt and replaced with a new one on the spot. Harry grins at the pain, because it's one he recognizes. This is exactly what it felt like to perform the ritual that brought him back nearly twenty years to the past.

As the time turner works its magic, the world around him is stripped of its color. Reality around him changes as his body travels through time and space. The world burns as if someone had lit it with fiendfyre, and when it seems like he won't be able to bear a single second more, the time-turner explodes, and Harry falls to the ground.

He doesn't know how long he spends unconscious, but when he wakes up, he's still inside the castle. He's wearing school robes, although they're in tatters and seem to have shrunk, and he can see that there are new shrapnel-like scars covering his chest.

Hermione is on the floor right next to him, in a very similar state. The ground is covered in pieces of glass, and chain links, but no sand, and there's something off about her, but Harry can't put his finger around it. 

He curses mentally and kneels to check on her. She has a pulse, which is good, but he doesn't have the time to take care of her right now. He casts a floating charm at her unconscious body and carries her all the way towards the infirmary.

Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey is nowhere in sight, so he can just deposit her in one of the beds and leave before anyone sees her.

Thinking quickly, Harry then pulls out his wand and casts a Patronus. It's not painful anymore, he notices.

"Go to Sirius," he tells his phoenix. "Tell him Moony is in the Shack and I saw Pettigrew on the map going towards him. He needs help fast ."

One less thing to worry about for now. Now he can focus on making his way towards Draco. Harry needs to see him alive and well like he needs air to be able to breathe. He runs through the halls and up the stairs, uncaring of who can see him on his way there.

By the time he makes it to the seventh floor, he's out of breath, but he thinks it's all worth it when he sees Draco coming out of the Room of Requirements, eyes rimmed red in what can only be the aftermath of a crying session.

"Draco!" he calls out.

The blond tenses up when he hears his voice, and when he looks at Harry he has a neutral mask on.

Harry doesn't care. He could be sneering at Harry and it would be the most beautiful sight in the world for him, but then his icy look is replaced by one of concern when he realizes the state Harry's in.

"Harry? Is that you? What happened?" he asks, looking up at him.

"Nothing, Hermione's necklace exploded, but we're fine. I think. I just needed to see you," he tells him, his breathing ragged.

"Hermione what—"

"She's in the infirmary," Harry tells him before he can worry. "Wanna go there?"

"I—Of course! Get a move on, Potter!" 

Harry can only smile at him.

His heart is still beating like crazy at the sigh of Draco alive and well, but he can't help himself from softly asking "Are you okay?" as they walk.

"Why do you ask?" Draco counters icily.

Harry looks at him right on, letting his emotions shine through his emerald eyes, and Draco turns his face away. "I was just going to get some air," he mutters.

"I'm sorry," Harry says unprompted, reaching for his hand.

"Later," Draco replies, accepting the gesture. They've reached the infirmary.

As soon as they get inside Harry is happy to take a seat beside her bed, tired from all his running and all the magic he's done in the past few hours. Madam Pomfrey seems ready to kick him out until she gets a proper look at him, and then she makes her tell him the story of what happened.

He tells her the short version of things. He was looking for Draco after dinner and he ran into Hermione. They crashed and her necklace exploded, and they  passed out for an unknown amount of time. He dropped her in before finding Draco and coming back, and that's it.

She scolds him for leaving instead of staying to be checked over, but Harry is way past caring. Draco is by his side holding his hand tightly. That's all that matters.

The three of them spend the next hours in the infirmary. Harry doesn't go to the Shrieking Shack that night. Maybe Sirius can actually kill the bastard this time around.

Harry wakes up to a cacophony of noises in the infirmary. The curtains in front of their beds are closed, but the voices of Sirius and Remus are crystal clear as they start to argue.

"—It's not a big deal, Moony," Sirius' voice says behind the fabric.

"Not a big— Look at your arms! You're lucky you can't get turned in your animagus form! Hell, you're lucky I didn't kill you!" Remus shouts. "And what if had escaped and gone to the castle like he wanted me to!?"

"None of that happened! I'm alive, and Poppy said I'll heal!"

Harry turns to look at Draco and Hermione on his sides. Draco just shrugs while Hermione looks uncertain as the two men argue. 

Harry slowly opens the curtains, just a bit, and the three of them continue watching them for the small opening.

Remus looks as he usually does after a full moon, which is terrible. His face is gaunt and his eyes are bloodshot. Sirius is in a similar state, and Harry winces when he sees the wounds on his arms.

"—Not everything is your fault!" Sirius cries, bringing Harry's attention back to their words.

"Isn't it?" Remus asks, voice full of sarcasm. "If I had been more trustworthy James would have made me the Secret Keeper and they'd be alive! If I was a good friend I would've demanded you get a trial instead of just believing you were guilty immediately!"

Sirius is shaking. "That's not only on you. I didn't trust you back then either, Moony. I'm sorry."

Remus shakes his head, his eyes wet. "What about the rest? because we both know that's not the worst I've done. I spent ten years of my life moping and licking my wounds by myself and had to wait for Harry, for a child to be the one to save you. He was ten years old and I abandoned him to grow up abused until he nearly became an obscurial! All because I was a coward!"

The room goes quiet.

"An obscurial? That's—That's insane, Moony," Sirius answers, voice shaky.

Remus snorts. "C'mon Sirius, don't tell me you haven't noticed," he answers, a hand running through his hair.

Sirius doesn't answer.

"His abusive family died in an 'accident' that only left him alive. He has an unhealthy obsession with the Malfoy kid. He's more powerful than any thirteen year old should be, and he still struggles to control his magic even now," Remus counts each item with his fingers. "You know, when we first met him all I could smell was the dark magic in him. It's better now, but if he'd been there for any longer I don't think he would be alive today."

Sirius is left speechless, and Harry can only let his jaw drop at the consequences of his lies catching up to his family. On his side, Draco flinches, making the metal pitcher on the bedside table topple to the floor, drawing the attention of Harry's guardians.

"Kids!" Sirius says startled. "What are you—You heard all that?" Sirius asks.

Harry nods slowly, not trusting himself to speak.

Remus looks at him with panicked eyes. "Harry… I—I'm sorry," he says, before leaving the room in a hurry.

Sirius is frozen on the spot, unsure of what to do now. "Go after him," Harry tells him.

He seems uncertain for a moment, but then he nods and leaves the room in a hurry.

Not too soon after, Madam Pomfrey comes to the room, shaking her head at "those two." She proceeds to check them physically, before running a couple of diagnostic spells on both him and Hermione for more detailed results, and then she frowns at the results.

"Putting asides the scratches from the time-turner's glass, and magic core depletion that seems to be already healing, you kids seem to be in good health," she reassures them. "All I can see that is unusual is Mr. Potter's abnormally large magic core, but… do you mind if I cast an extra charm?"

Both of them shake their heads, and then she waves her wand at them. A lumos seems to light up in her brain as she sees the results.

"Aha!" she says. "It seems that the time sand you've been exposed to has accelerated your aging, making you around… I'd say two years older. I'd like for you to stay the rest of the day to make sure that the effects have subsided, but otherwise, that's all there is to it."

The three of them stare at her with wide eyes.

"You can fix it, right? You can make me fourteen again?" Hermione asks, voice filled with uncertainty.

Madam Pomfrey frowns. "I'm afraid it's not up to me. Time magic is already such a delicate subject, and I'm sorry Ms. Granger, but there's no actual residual magic in either of you, the changes seem to be done and permanent."

Hermione stares at her with her mouth agape. "I think—I need some time to think," she says, before standing up on shaky legs and running away from the infirmary.

"Ms. Granger, come back!" Madam Pomfrey calls out, but Hermione doesn't turn around.

The matron just sighs before turning to them. "Don't you dare run away too, Mr. Potter. I need to make some calls," she says, leaving him and Draco alone.

Harry sighs. "I don't know why I have to stay. I'm fine," he says, sitting down on the bed.

Draco clearly disagrees with him. He's standing as stiff as a board, and Harry can practically hear him grinding his teeth. "An explosion aged you two years in less than ten minutes and you want to treat it like it's nothing?" Draco asks, frustration made clear in his voice.

Harry rubs the back of his head with his hand. "But I wasn't really affected? I didn't pass out for hours like she did. I feel the same."

Draco's eye twitches.

"What do you mean you were unaffected? Have you actually seen yourself in a mirror?" he asks, looking at him like he's crazy.

Admittedly, Harry hasn't. Yesterday he was too busy thinking about Draco to care about himself, but now, as he summons a mirror to take a look at his appearance, the differences are very clear.

"Oh," he says.

Harry looks older now. He's taller, for one. His robes hadn't shrunk, he'd grown a couple of inches instead. His face is sharper, his baby fat has been replaced by a hard jaw and he can see the beginning of stubble starting to appear on his chin. His shoulders are wider, his hands are bigger, his voice lower.

In short, puberty hit him like a truck.

"I… hadn't noticed," Harry admits.

Draco scoffs. "Of course you hadn't."

An uncomfortable silence fills the room.

"Anyway, we should probably buy Sirius a get well soon letter in Hogsmeade tomorrow," Harry says, trying to change the subject.

"With me? Wouldn't you rather go with Lavender Brown?" Draco practically spits the question.

Harry groans. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

"She asked you on a date, didn't she? I hope you have fun with her. Just make sure to not catch anything, I heard she's kissed all of the boys in Gryffindor already," Draco sneers.

Harry can only stare dumbfounded at him. "Merlin, for someone so smart you can be really dumb sometimes."

"Hey!"

"I don't like her, you git. I rejected her as soon as you left. Of course I did," Harry tells him, making his voice soft near the end.

It makes Draco stop. "Why?" he asks, face filled with uncertainty.

"Why would I want anyone else when I have you? I'm crazy about you," Harry admits, his words having more weight than Draco probably realizes.

"What? But you don't—" he doesn't finish his sentence, looking sideways instead.

Draco can't possibly think that Harry isn't hopelessly in love with him, can he? Has he truly not noticed. Did Draco think he was imagining Harry's attraction? That's not possible, right? He has to know.

But the blond still won't look at him, and Harry realizes that he's going to have to take drastic measures to fix this.

He takes a deep breath before putting one hand on Draco's waist and the other on his neck. "Your mother will kill me for this but—"

Harry kisses him right on the lips. He has to lean down and turn Draco's head up to do so, their height difference becoming much more clear as their mouths meet.

He uses his thumb to softly caress Draco's cheek. His skin soft silk to his touch. Draco's hands come to rest on his shoulders, and Harry pulls him closer to him, their bodies slotting like two pieces of a puzzle.

Eventually, Draco has to breathe and Harry allows him to pull back. If it were for him, Harry would die suffocated by Draco's lips. Let his last breath be swallowed by his mouth, but this is Draco's first kiss, and he wants to give him many, many more in the future.

"You kissed me," Draco says.

"I did," Harry answers. "And when we turn fourteen, I'm going to court you."

"You want to court me?" Draco asks, his eyes shining bright. "With gifts? and dates? and—"

"—and a shiny betrothal ring right at the end," he promises, dropping a kiss on Draco's hand. On his ring finger.

Draco is the one to kiss his lips this time. It's just a chaste press of lips, but it makes Harry melt still.

"You're mine, Draco Malfoy," he tells him, putting their foreheads together. "and I'm yours. No one else's."

They don't speak for a while, they just stay unmoving, taking in the feeling of each other.

"Harry," Draco is the first to speak, minutes after.

"Dra~co," Harry replies in the same tone, earning himself a small hit on the chest.

Draco huffs. "I think I just got the perfect memory for my patronus," he admits, with a shy smile.

Minutes later, when Madam Pomfrey walks back into the room, two silver birds fly above them while they sit on one of the beds. A silver phoenix is flying circles around a smaller raven, each of them letting out soundless cries every once in a while. 

Draco is nestled in between Harry's legs, with his back resting on Harry's chest. His legs feel like jelly, but it has nothing to do with his magic. He feels no strain, and even if he did, he wouldn't stop for anything in the universe.

He's not letting Draco go. He's not letting him out of his sight ever again.

When the school year ends Sirius tells Harry that he'll pick him up in King's Crossing. He went back to Grimmauld Place after the confrontation with Remus and checking that Harry was okay.

Harry doesn't see Remus for the last few days of school. He appears for dinner at the Great Hall, but since he already did the final tests he doesn't show up to his third year classes.

It's only when he has all his things packed and is ready to leave that Harry catches him in his office. The man hasn't unpacked, and Harry asks him about it, trying to avoid the harder topics they have to discuss.

"I was about to do just that," he tells Harry. "You should go ahead. I'll meet you on the train as soon as I'm finished," he says, but Harry has a bad feeling about it.

Nevertheless he mounts the train and waits. He makes conversation with Neville and Ron while holding hands with Draco, but he keeps an eye out for Remus. His guardian doesn't come by their compartment.

It's only when they reach the station and Harry sees Sirius waiting for him that he realizes the truth.

"He's not going to come, is he?" Sirius asks with a small voice.

"He's not," Harry replies somberly.

They still wait for him, but by the time half an hour passes, Sirius reaches for him with shaking arms, and pulls him into a hug. Harry hugs him back tight. When he feels his godfather start to shake with the force of his sobs, Harry apparates them to Grimmauld Place.

The two of them spend the night in front of the fireplace. Cuddling in front of flames that won't turn green despite their best wishes.

Chapter Text

Somehow, July turns out to be his busiest month of the year so far. Remus staying in the castle means he's the only person in the house to help Sirius when he has one of his off moments. He's not taking the separation well, obviously. The absence of Remus seems to have set him back in his mental recovery. Sometimes Harry manages to snap him out of a flashback and back to reality, but other times he has to let Sirius ride them out.

They don't really speak about all the things Remus said about Harry that day.

Harry doesn't want to talk about him, period.

He has a lot of mixed feelings about the man. On one hand, Sirius misses him, and he wants him back for his sake, but on the other, if Harry never saw him again he wouldn't care. He would prefer it, even.

The image of Moony slashing Draco's chest is hidden under many layers of occlumency shields in his mind, and sure, Draco is alive and completely unharmed now, and he knows Pettigrew was the one truly at fault for messing with Remus before his transformation, but he doesn't know what he'd do with access to poison and a sleeping Remus Lupin.

A part of him wants to completely erase the memories of that branch of reality from his mind, he doesn't want to see Draco bleed like that ever again, but it serves as a reminder to him that Draco comes first and he can't afford to get sloppy.

There's also the fact that Remus thinks that Harry almost became an obscurial. It never occurred to Harry that his behavior could be constructed like that. But from Remus' perspective it all must fit. There's some things about himself that even Harry himself can't fully explain. Like the way those black lightning marks start appearing all over his body every time he uses big amounts of magic at once being one.

He knows he should look into that eventually, figure out if it's an advantage or a hindrance, but now is not the time to experiment with his magic. Not when his core just recently found balance again, going back to gray. Casting his patronus to send messages to Draco throughout the day doesn't even faze him anymore.

With his magic mostly settled, he focuses on doubling his physical training. The time explosion made him two years older, meaning that in only a year he'll achieve his maturity and he'll be able to compensate with runes carved in his body, but until then he only has his own strength to rely on, and he can't afford for it to fail him, especially with all that's coming in less than a year.

He isn't going out to hunt Death Eaters this month, although he learns from Mrs. Malfoy that Nott Sr. was in the Time Rom in the department of mysteries when a magic explosion happened, aging him so much that he actually turned to dust.

A couple of other unspeakables were also affected, although to a lesser degree. It seems his adventure with untested combinations of time magic had more consequences than he initially realized. Every single time turner in the UK seems to have exploded that day of June. No one seems to know what was the cause, or even why it happened, and he hopes it stays that way.

The time he would usually use to hunt, he spends instead making runestones. The process is lengthy, carving the runes in several precious gems he grew with help from the philosopher's stone and then charging them with his magic manages to drain even his oversized magic core, and with the amount of them he needs for his project, the time and effort he needs to dedicate becomes even bigger. 

He spends his nights basically glued to his bed with gems in one hand and his wand in the other, but he really can't afford to stop, because just making them is only half the battle.

Once he's finished making all the runestones he needs, (and then some extra to be safe) he'll have to actually bury them underground, letting the magic in them mix with the magic of the earth. The process of the two different kinds of magic mixing will take several months, and he'll need to start it without magic, so as to not overcharge them once they're ready to go. He can already feel his back hurting from all the digging he'll have to do.

It'll be a pain in the ass, but it'll be worth it. That graveyard in Little Hangleton will be his biggest trap to this day, and he won't fuck that up because of one malfunctioning runestone.

On top of all that, he's also been teaching himself mind magic. Right now, his occlumency is good enough to fool even Dumbledore, it had been a massive asset when he was an Auror and it's one of the skills that transferred over when he traveled through time. His legilimency skills are decent enough. They can get the job done if he needs to find information from someone, but what he needs right now is something more delicate, something more precise.

The problem with that is that as much as he practices on his own it doesn't really compare to actually casting mind magic on someone else. He can read as many books as he wants and do as many exercises as he wishes but until he's faced with someone else's mind he won't know how skilled he actually is.

He could try it on Sirius if he was really pressed for it, but Harry suspects that his occlumency skills are better that his godfather lets on, and getting caught would make things awkward between them.

That's the only thing that he doesn't make much progress on, and it frustrates the hell out of him.

He tries to balance all of his work by spending time with his godfather and his soon-to-be boyfriend. 

He takes Sirius out of the house and drags him to do stuff together to cheer him up. Going to the cinema and the arcade, trashing the basement filled with Walburga's stuff they never got around throwing out, and doing typical post break up stuff. That's how one day they end up going inside a muggle tattoo parlor and walking out with Sirius' arm covered in plastic wrap, a new tattoo saying 'FUCK LOVE' decorating his bicep.

At first he thinks it's a bit too much, but by the time they come back home Sirius somehow convinces him to get a new haircut and dye a streak of his hair white and to pierce his ears. He himself dyed his entire mane blood red and got his tongue pierced. They look like two punks with the way they're dressed in all black and matching jackets, and Harry ends up falling in love with the look.

It seems to work cheering Sirius up, to an extent. His presence has always made his godfather happier, and he'll use that to his advantage. At least the man is not getting blackout drunk every night anymore.

He finds that Draco likes his new look just a few days after the fact. The blond runs his hands through his hair in a way that makes Harry shiver against him, and that's the first time they have a proper make out session. Harry comes back home with red lips, messy hair, and a massive smile on his face.

Draco's lucky that he's staying over that day in Pansy's house, but Sirius catches Harry coming in through the floo and doesn't stop teasing him for hours after that.

He's been making sure to spend plenty of time with Draco. Technically they're not dates, they're just 'hanging out', so Harry's not breaking courting protocol any more than he already has, but if they sneak into empty corners to share a few kisses here and there—Well, no one has to know about that.

He can start the courtship right now, if he wants to. He's sixteen, and he has the blessing of one of Draco's parents. There's nothing stopping him from giving him the gift he's had in his drawer since December, but he wants to make it special for Draco.

Thankfully, he has his birthday party to look forward to. Usually, he doesn't care much for parties. In fact, he's having a joint one with Neville to ease the attention off of himself, but for Draco, who's always loved being the center of attention, it's undoubtedly the perfect occasion to make a move.

When the day arrives Harry feels like electricity is running through his veins. His first gift has been sitting patiently on his desk all day long, and Harry keeps checking on it to make sure it hasn't magically disappeared.

He shouldn't be so nervous. He knows Draco likes him. He knows he'll say yes. Merlin, he's been married to a version of Draco before, but a part of him can't keep his giddiness at the thought of having an official claim on the blond. The world will know once again that Draco is his, and he has no plans to share him.

His friends start arriving at the house in the late afternoon of the 30th of July. The plan is for people to stay just for a while after midnight, so both he and Neville can celebrate their actual birthdays. 

The guests arrive slowly but surely, and Harry makes small talk with most of them while keeping an eye out on the floo. There's only one person he's waiting for.

As if he's reading his mind, Draco arrives just in time to be fashionably late, and Harry feels his heart on his throat when he takes a look at him.

Draco is wearing his long hair in an updo, all wavy locks held together with the butterfly clip Harry got him last Christmas, and his cheeks blush a precious pink when his eyes meet Harry's.

The sight of Draco wearing the things he bought for him does things to Harry. Sometimes he dreams of buying Draco an entire wardrobe and sitting with him as they decide what he'll wear for the day. Those fantasies tend to get derailed, though. Often ending with Harry deciding all Draco is going to wear is an ornate piece of jewelry and Harry's marks on his body.

The thought makes him shudder. Someday , he tells himself. This is the first step towards that.

He walks towards him and greets him with a hug that is just this close to being too long.

"You look wonderful," Harry whispers in his ear.

"I know," Draco replies. "You're welcome."

Harry chuckles, smiling brightly at him.

After they separate Draco simply slips one hand through Harry's offered arm before they start walking around, making a round through the guests without coming apart.

The crowd is not too big, but it is both his and Neville's friend groups, so it takes a while for them to see everyone.

Harry couldn't tell anyone what went down at most of his party. It all ends up as flashes of moments in his mind.

A hug with Neville, Ron accidentally eating one of the twins' pranks, a trade of scathing remarks with Pansy, a conversation with Hermione.

That, he actually remembers.

When she arrived earlier through the front door, Harry had been left speechless at her looks.

She looks—well, older. 

The first thing he notices is that she cut her hair. Her usually long curls now barely reach her shoulders. She's wearing makeup, which throws him out, he's never known Hermione to do that, her front teeth are smaller now, and there's something in her eyes that makes Harry do a double take.

She looks like his Hermione, but also not. The friend he lost to Voldemort's curse in another life, Draco's nerdy friend in this one, and someone else entirely.

It's strange.

"New look?" she asks while he's still holding the door open for her.

Harry nods. "I could say the same to you."

"It was time for a change," she says.

Harry nods, leading her inside.

She's greeted animatedly, Pansy and some girls immediately take her to the side while most of the boys just gape at her new look. 

She's popular tonight. In fact, he only has a chance to talk with her well into the night.

He sees her alone in a corner while Draco is safe between the twins, them talking about their newest invention while Draco listens, intrigued by the charm work.

Harry discreetly leaves the conversation to lean against the wall next to her.

"Having fun?" he asks.

She sighs, taking a sip of a glass filled with what Harry is pretty sure is nettle wine.

"Don't you think it's too…childish?" she asks. 

Harry's eyebrows raise. "How do you mean?"

She moves a strand of hair behind her ear. "A magic explosion made us physically adults, by wizarding law at least, but we're just pretending that we're still kids?" 

"Is it really that big of a change?" he asks. He's had years to get used to living in a body that doesn't match his mental age, being two years older isn't that big of a deal in the great scale of things.

"Is it really—Harry, that's two years of our lives that we lost. Gone like they were nothing. Look at us, there's no point denying we changed."

"I mean, I don't really feel different, just taller."

"Do you really not mind?" she asks, clearly upset.

Harry shrugs "As long as I get to spend the time I do have with Draco and my people I really don't think I do," he replies honestly.

Hermione sighs, letting her head fall down. "I don't know why I even asked you."

"Sorry," Harry grimaces.

She shakes her head. "Don't be, sometimes I wish I could be more like that, but I can't help but worry about everything all the time."

"That's… rough," he settles on, unsure of how to proceed.

"And that's not even half of it," she admits. "I keep having these weird dreams, like memories about things that I know didn't happen, but they feel so real."

"What kind of dreams?" Harry asks.

"About us, mostly. You, Ron, Draco, and me," she says. "You are a Gryffindor in them, and you save me from a troll, save Sirius from dementors, or help Hagrid sneak a dragon out of the castle and Draco tattles on you, you steal a Dragon's egg, we fly on a Dragon with Ron… There's a lot of dragons involved, now that I think about it."

Harry's throat closes. "That's—"

"Ridiculous, I know. You on Gryffindor and Draco tattling on your? Impossible."

Harry smiles weakly. "What do you make of them?" he asks.

"Well, it has something to do with time," she rolls her eyes, as if to say obviously . "It all started because of the time-turner's explosion, and the dreams are about me in different periods of my life."

"Even the future?"

She nods. "There's one where I'm really old and Draco's friend Goyle curses me in the back that is just awful, but then I turn around to look at him and say—"

"I forgive you," Harry finishes for her, his voice barely a whisper.

Hermione blinks at him. "How…"

"I—me too," Harry says, surprising himself. "I have those dreams, too."

She looks like she wants to keep talking, but just then the crowd starts to cheer, and he can hear Sirius calling his name. Harry realizes that it's almost midnight as Sirius floats the birthday cake to the table.

"We'll talk about this later," he tells her, getting up to look for Draco.

"Harry, wait—"

He leaves anyway. He won't tell her everything , he tells himself. He can't risk her finding out about what he did to get back here, but if she has his Hermione's memories, then he wants her on his side more than ever.

He'll need to make up a plausible story, something that won't set off her alarms, but until then, he'll just keep an eye on her, and if he finds out that she doesn't approve of his methods for preventing the future, then he has even more reasons to keep her close.

He and Neville blow the candles of the cake exactly at midnight, both smiling awkwardly as their guests cheer them on.

Harry accepts the hugs and congratulations as he wades through the crowd, looking for his blond. When he does, he grabs him by the hand, dragging him to the center of the room.

He can feel the eyes on them.

He clears his throat awkwardly, the last public speech he ever did was back when he was an auror and the minister needed him to raise morale, but this is something else entirely.

He takes a look at Draco looking at him with stars in his eyes, and suddenly finds himself rid of all nerves.

"Draco," he says. "I grew up not having much, so when I want something, I want it bad . There's nothing I wouldn't do to get it, and I want you, I want us. "

With a wave of his hand, he summons the first gift, and the crowd gasps as it comes floating all the way from his bedroom.

It lands delicately on his hand, a bouquet of crystal roses that shine full of his magic. He commissioned them from a muggle glass blower and added the enchantments on it by himself. He wanted the only magic on it to be his. The flowers look fragile at first hand, but they're actually very close to being completely unbreakable. Someone would have to be magically stronger than Harry to leave even a scratch on them.

"Would you allow me the privilege of courting you?"

Draco takes the bouquet in his arms, his face flushed. He brings them near to his face and gasps as he notices that they give off a fragrance too. It's a very diluted form of amortentia. Too low in quantity to influence someone's feeling but just enough to carry someone's favorite scents.

Draco looks at him with wonder in his eyes, and Harry doesn't have to ask what he smells, because his face tells him everything.

Draco grabs the lapels of his jackets and brings him down to put their lips together, kissing Harry in a way that is definitely not in line with any courtship tradition he knows of. He doesn't care, he kisses Draco back as if it was the last kiss they'd ever share, putting his every emotion into it.

He can vaguely hear clapping around them, but all he's focusing on is the drumming of their hearts, beating in rhythm as one.

"Is that a yes?" he asks once they separate, his forehead resting on top of Draco's head.

"It's definitely a yes," Draco replies, and that's all that matters to Harry.

Everyone leaves not too soon after that, even Hermione. Despite her best attempts to corner Harry into a talk, Sirius himself apparates her back home before she can.

Once it's just godson and godfather left inside the house the two of them collapse on a couch.

Harry has a giddy smile on his face, and Sirius seems content just lying on the couch with him.

"Congratulations, pup," he says, sipping on his glass of firewhiskey. "Barely sixteen and already with a pretty boyfriend."

"He is very pretty, isn't he?" Sirius snorts, but Harry doesn't stop. "And smart, and funny, and—"

"Agh, don’t start getting all sappy on me, save it for your beau, blergh " Sirius fake gags, earning a shove from Harry.

His godfather chuckles, pushing him back and starting a wrestling match on top of the couch.

That's when the owl comes in.

It’s a common barn owl, carrying a small parcel with brown paper wrapping, and it leaves as soon as Harry takes the package from it.

The both of them trade looks over the package, and Harry quickly has his wand out, casting every detection spell he knows on it.

Sirius whistles at the display of magic, but only interrupts him to cast himself a few ones that Harry forgets.

"Clean," he says.

Harry nods.

With hesitant hands, he opens the parcel, his eyes widening as he realizes it's a gift from Remus, a muggle book Harry mentioned liking once and a bar of Harry's favorite chocolate. The note in the package simply says From Remus, with love.

Harry doesn't know what to think. Remus sends a gift but doesn't show up to the party or come home at all. He can't tell if this is meant to be an apology, an olive branch, or a goodbye. Sirius sees his hesitation in his face and glances over at the note. As soon as he sees the name his expression sours. He looks like he wants nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die.

"That's his go to move," Sirius says, voice painfully neutral.

It takes him a moment to connect the dots.

"Leaving?" Harry asks.

Sirius nods. "Every time we had a fight he'd just disappear for a couple of days, weeks sometimes, no matter whose fault it was. One time he left for an entire month and came back like nothing had happened."

"That's—"

"Awful? Terrifying? Nerve-wracking?"

Harry nods, and Sirius snorts, shaking his head.

"I never blamed him," he mutters.

"What?"

"Even when I thought he was the spy, I never blamed him. I blamed myself for making him pull away from us," Sirius explains. "Did I ever tell you about the time I almost ruined our friendship?"

Harry shakes his head.

Sirius sits back on the couch, letting his head fall back so he's looking at the ceiling.

"The dementors never tried to take this memory, it's just… awful. I told Snape about his secret. Gave him all the tools he needed to ruin his life on a silver platter without even hesitating for a second," Sirius confesses, his voice tight.

Harry doesn't speak for a long moment. He already knows the story, but he doesn't know why Sirius would do that.

So he asks him "Why did you?" while looking at him right in the eye.

Sirius covers his face with one arm, ashamed. "It was our fifth year, and I had been… dealing with some stuff. Dad got sick the summer before that and I guess Walburga took it as an opportunity to be even more awful to me," he explains.

"Sorry," Harry winces.

Sirius doesn't acknowledge it. "Reggie told one of his Slytherin friends about her beating me like a muggle, instead of bothering to cast curses on me, and I guess Snive—Snape must have overheard it. He always had a knack for that, fucking bat ," he cursed under his breath. "So he spent the entire year taunting me about it until I just—snapped, I guess. I couldn't even defend myself at first, I had that stupid leaf in my mouth for the animagus potion for most of the year because I kept accidentally spitting it out. I didn't even think about sticking it to the roof of my mouth like you did," he says, ruffling his hair.

"Anyway, a few days after we finally got the potion done he made a comment about me bending over for a mutt like Remus every full moon, and I just blurted it out, as if it was nothing, just like that. I told him that if he was really interested in what Remus got up to every full moon he should go to the Shrieking Shack with the passage under the Whomping Willow. It didn't even occur to me what would happen to Remus if he accidentally hurt him, I thought it'd just scare him off, until I told your dad about it and he yelled at me for being an idiot."

He grimaces at the memory.

"Remus avoided me for the rest of the term. Wouldn't even look at me or stay in the same room for long enough for me to apologize. James only spoke to me for long enough to get the next step of the transformation going."

"How did you fix it?" Harry asks.

Sirius snorts. "Wormtail, of all people, was the one that helped me get back into their good graces. At the time I was so grateful for it that I didn't think about the fact that he had no problem helping out a traitor like me. If our positions had been reversed I never would have forgiven him for doing that to Remus. Maybe it would've been for the best if I just stayed away."

Silence falls in the room.

"Well, I'm glad you made up. You're a good godfather," Harry tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Nah, you're just a good godson," Sirius replies, holding onto him.

Neither of them moves for a long time.

His routine doesn't change much after his birthday. He keeps doing the prep work for his graveyard trap, keeps studying mind magic, working out, spending time with Sirius, going on dates with Draco. It's a lot, but busy as he is, time passes in the blink of an eye and soon they're on the eve of the Quidditch World Cup.

Harry convinced Sirius to get tickets as soon as they started selling. It hadn't been a hard task, considering that Sirius is even more of a quidditch fanatic than Harry had been in his past life and they both have more money than they know what to do with.

They invite the Tonks family to go with them, but both Ted and Andromeda decline politely. Tonks herself is more than willing to come along and even asks if she can bring a date, Sirius gives her the go ahead, and she sends back a howler giving them a very loud thank you.

He knows that the Weasleys are going to attend, and so are Draco and his father, and along with him there are around other fifteen Death Eaters just waiting on their toes to sow chaos after the match.

Harry's counting on that.

They show up a few hours before the match starts. Sirius and Harry didn't rent a tent, but the Weasleys did, and they still like Harry enough to invite him to stay for the celebrations after the game.

It doesn't take much to convince Sirius, especially after Harry introduces him to the twins and they proceed to fall on their knees and bow their heads before him.

Sirius cackles as they tell him about all their pranks, which is a way better reaction than they got from Remus when they did the same to him. Granted, they did so by pranking him in the middle of his class, but still.

After promising to exchange letters, godson and godfather go out to explore the grounds and look for Tonks. She had to arrive a little late because of her training, and is meeting them with her date somewhere near the stadium.

But when they near the building it's not her they see. Instead they're met with someone else standing with his back to them, his ragged coat very familiar to their eyes.

Sirius almost trips when he recognizes him, and the man turns around at the sound. When he looks at them his eyes widen in shock.

"Remus," Sirius says, aghast. "What are you—"

"Surprise!" Tonks exclaims, coming out from behind the werewolf, her cheery expression out of place in the charged reunion.

Her cheer is meet with uncomfortable silence as the rest of the group stands still.

Eventually, Remus clears his throat before speaking. "I—Dora said she had an extra ticket and she invited to the game. As friends," he quickly adds.

She grins by his side. "We've been exchanging letters since Christmas!" "—A purely intellectual exchange," Remus interrupts with a mutter. "—and I finally managed to make him agree to go on a date."

"That's… great!" Sirius says, his voice tight with fake happiness, his fist clenched tight inside his coat's pocket.

Harry just stands there awkwardly as Tonks talks circles around the two men. They walk inside the stadium while she tells them about her time as a beater for the Hufflepuff team, and how it ended after she accidentally clubbed her own captain on the head.

"—but he was fine. One visit to St. Mungo's an he was as good as new!" she reassures them.

"I used to be a beater too," Sirius mutters, making Remus flinch.

Harry doesn't think he'll survive an entire day of this.

Thankfully, he then hears a familiar voice calling his name, and he looks towards it to find Draco waving at him.

He looks at Sirius while pointing at the blond with a thumb "I'm just gonna…" 

"Go for it, pup," Sirius sighs, resigned to his torture.

He doesn't have to tell Harry twice.

"Draco!" he calls, sneaking through the crowd to get to him.

The blond jumps to him and Harry catches him with open arms, wrapping him into a tight hug.

"Missed you," he whispers into his ear.

"It's only been two weeks," Draco answers.

"Still…"

Behind them, someone clears their throat, and the two teens separate just enough to stop hugging, but still connected by Harry's hands on Draco's waist, and his hands on Harry's shoulders.

It's only when they see who it is that Draco jumps backwards, fully separating himself from Harry.

"Father!" he yelps, straightening under Lucius Malfoy's gaze.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry greets dutifully, with no emotion in his voice.

The man doesn't awknowledge him. He just looks at his son before speaking. 

"Public displays of affection, Draco? How improper," he scoffs.

Draco tenses. "Harry is courting me, father," he replies, his voice firm as he talks Harry's hand. "We're allowed that."

"Is he?" Lucius sneers. "I don't remember giving my blessing to allow anyone to court you. Much less someone of his…lineage."

"You didn't, but your wife did," Harry replies, helpful, ignoring the way Draco tightens his hold on his hand.

"I see… We'll be talking about this," he says to his son, turning away. "I'll be in our seats, Draco. Do not make me wait," he demands, before leaving.

Draco's shoulders slump as soon as he's out of view. "I wish he would at least try to get along with you," he mutters.

Harry runs a comforting thumb over their joined hands. "Do you want to sit with us instead?" Harry offers. Draco's expression brightens for all of a second before turning gloomy.

"Mother said I'm to stay with father all day," Draco grumbles. "I’m not allowed to leave his side until we’re gone."

"Oh," Harry says, disappointed.

"You could join us instead?" Draco amends, full of hope.

"Are you sure?" Harry asks. "He doesn't like me much."

Draco sighs. "He doesn't like anyone much these days, but you're right," he sinks into himself.

"How about we meet afterwards? I'll bet you Ireland wins but Krum catches the snitch," Harry says, eyes full of mirth.

Draco looks at him with calculating eyes. "What are we betting exactly?" he asks.

Harry smirks, and Draco turns bright pink as Harry whispers to exactly what he wants as a prize.

"Agreed," Draco answers far too quickly, cheeks burning. "But if you're wrong then you're out of luck, mister," he huffs, looking away, but without letting go of Harry's hand.

The game goes exactly as he remembers it.

Harry is sitting between Sirius and Remus at his godfather's request, the two of them keep stealing glances at each other when they think the other isn't looking.

Tonks is cheering like a madwoman, screaming at the referee and holding onto Remus for dear life when she wants to get a closer look at the game. At least someone is having a good time, Harry thinks.

He tunes most of the actual game out, already having witnessed it once. Instead, he takes the time to look around the stands, keeping an eye on the men and women anxiously waiting for the game to end to don their black robes and white skull masks.

He also sneaks a couple of glances towards Draco's exalted face many seats away. He's flushed from cheering and his smile is as big and free, for once not concerned with keeping up a recated appearance.

Near him sit the Weasleys, and Harry keeps an eye on the "empty" seat next to them, guarded by a lone house elf. He's ready in case Barty Crouch Jr. decides to change the script somehow, but fortunately, he doesn't.

Krum catches the snitch and yet Ireland wins, and soon after the celebrations start.

He doesn't see Draco right away, but he knows his father must be placing him somewhere safe before acting, the bracelet on his wrist is pointing towards the forest, and Harry keeps checking on his heartbeat to see if he's calm.

It's not much information, but it's what he has. He should really look into getting him an updated version. Harry can sneak in a couple more auror–grade surveillance charms that won't set off any alarms.

Remus and Tonks are the first ones to leave, the man looking at both of them with regret without actually voicing it out loud. Sirius sags with relief after their forms apparate away leaving him and Harry alone.

The man looks defeated all throughout the celebrations.

He's almost glad for him when the screams break out and Sirius is immediately on the move. "Go to the forest, Harry! Wait for me there!" he shouts as he runs towards the floating muggles.

"I'm going to look for Draco!" Harry yells, going the other way.

He doesn't hear if Sirius answers him, because he quickly transforms into his animagus form, disappearing from his view.

His dark feathers help him blend in in the dark sky, and soon he's flying right above them. He dives down with honed ease, a move he's been practicing for the last few weeks, and before the man can react to the raven's assault,  Harry turns back into a human just long enough to knock him down with a wandless stupefy, and feed him one of Fred and George's magic sweets.

On the ground, the Death Eater turns into a canary, and Harry wastes no time putting the animal inside one of his expanded pockets, leaving the dark robes and mask lying on the ground.

" Diffindo !" he hears from one of his sides, and quickly Harry throws himself to the ground, barely avoiding the attack of a masked figure.

Fuck, he thinks

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" the wizard asks.

Harry doesn't speak, he simply answers with a silent stunner.

He misses, but he doesn' let that stop him. He throws wave after wave of spell, dodging the curses the other man throws at him. The Death Eater is good, but Harry is simply better.

Soon he starts getting overwhelmed by Harry's spell fire, and then in a fit of desperation he shouts.

"Avada—"

"Stupefy!" Harry interrupts, getting him right on the chest.

As he sees the body on the ground Harry can't help but thank that he chose a secluded area to attack. He doesn't know if anyone's seen him, but they're far away enough that it is unlikely.

He kneels before the passed out Death Eater, taking off his mask to see his identity, and has to hold back a snort as Lucius Malfoy's unconscious face is revealed.

"I could kill you right now and nobody would know," he whispers to the man. "You're a lucky one, Lucy. I'll see you for family dinner, obliviate."

He leaves him unconscious on the floor before taking out another lone Death Eater and chucking him in his pocket. The two canaries won't be able to turn back into humans while in the confined space. He'll need to put them in a better prison, maybe one of his trunk's secret compartments. He'll tie their hands and feet with unbreakable chains and gag them so they can't scream.

As he flies towards Draco's form in the forest he can't help but hum happily under his breath.

"Harry!" the blond shouts, running towards him as soon as he comes into view.

He doesn't hesitate to grab him by the middle and lift him up in an energetic hug. Pressing their bodies together until they almost become one.

"Are you okay?" Draco asks, looking over him for injuries.

"More than," Harry replies, kissing him.

He has a beautiful boy in his arms and two new dummies to practice his mind magic on.

Deep in the forest, the dark mark illuminates the sky, and Harry knows that he's one step closer to getting his happily ever after with Draco.

Life is looking up.

Chapter Text

DEATH EATERS KIDNAP UPSTANDING WIZARDS AT QUIDDITCH WORLD FINAL

by Rita Skeeter.

Wizards and Witches, today is a dark day for the magic community as a whole. After this year's final game for the World Quidditch Cup (Bulgaria vs. Ireland, read more on page 5) an attack unlike we've seen in many years took place.

Amidst the celebrations for the Ireland team's win, a group of masked individuals attacked the crowds, setting fire to several tents, and kidnapping Amycus Carrow, a renown tutor for disadvantaged children, and Thorfin Rowle, a Ministry worker for the Department of Magical Transportation. We can only guess what these individuals have been taken for, but our guess is nothing good.

The terrorist attackers also managed to stun Advisor to the Minister Lucius Malfoy, who bravely fought them on his own, even managing to take off one of their masks before they managed to hit him with an unknown dark spell. But fear not, readers, Lord Malfoy is now fully recovered.

To finish their attack, the terrorists cast the dark mark in the middle of the forest near the stadium, declaring themselves as the Dark Lord's Death Eaters. We can only hope this is an isolated case but if it's not, I will continue updating the world on the story.

"So what'd you think? You guys came out pretty unscathed," Harry tells the two men in front of him. "I mean, ‘disadvantaged children’, she didn't even mention the muggles you attacked."

They don't answer, of course, they hardly can with the gags on their mouths.

"And it's not like I didn't expect my dear father in law to have a contingency plan, but honestly, they caught him in full Death Eater regalia, I'm ashamed of the ministry."

The men struggle against their restraints. "Oh yeah, you guys work there, don't you? You should really work on that." The comment only enrages them, and Harry chuckles as they fail to free themselves. "You're wasting your time, those are unbreakable. Made with the same materials they use to chain convicts during their trials, you would not believe how annoying it was to get them."

He'd also gone through the effort of carving his own set of runes in them in case they somehow do manage to free themselves. Those two aren't leaving their prison alive.

It hadn't been hard, shucking them inside his trunk, all it’d taken was a call to Kreacher and Dobby and the promise that they wouldn’t tell anyone. Harry had paid an exorbitant amount of galleons for one trunk with many secret compartments all those years ago just for a situation like this. He really ought to thank Barty Crouch Jr. for the idea

"Anyway, we should get to what I came here for. You guys are here to help me make the world a safer place for my boyfriend. I don't want him getting hurt by a bunch of Death Eaters, you know?"

The two men don't say anything.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You two are Death Eaters, whatever. I'm just saying, maybe after I'm done with you you will... change your minds. "

Harry sits expectantly.

Silence, then a sigh.

"Oh well, not everyone has a sense of humor," he says, bringing out his counterfeit wand. " Legilimens ."

He gets out of the trunk just in time to hear Sirius calling down to him. Casting a tempus he realizes that it's five past ten, and with a wave of his wand, he brings the last few things he needs to the main compartment of his trunk.

Luggage floating behind him, he makes his way downstairs, where Sirius is already waiting for him.

For the first time since they started living together, he's wearing a full set of wizarding robes instead of his usual muggle ensemble topped with a leather jacket. His dark red mane is held up in a bun, his face clean shaven, and he's fidgeting with his wand in his hand.

Harry almost trips when he sees him.

Sirius doesn't seem to notice, he just looks relieved to see him coming down. "You got everything ready?" he asks.

Harry nods dumbly.

“All your books?”

“Yup."

"Clothes?"

"Uh huh."

"Your wand—"

"What's with the outfit?" Harry finally asks, interrupting him.

Sirius tries to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. "You don't like it?"

"No, no, I didn't say that! It's just—different," Harry settles on. "Are you feeling well?"

Sirius sighs. "I'm… trying to look like a respectable single parent?"

Harry raises his eyebrows, and Sirius flinches, before letting his shoulders slump down.

"I was talking with Molly Weasley after the Cup and she… gave me some tips on how to be a better guardian and role model," Harry's eyes widen. "With Moony gone, I'm the closest thing you've got to a responsible adult nearby, so I'm just… trying to look the part, I guess."

Oh.

"You don't need to do all that just so other people can feel better about your parenting," Harry says, accio'ing his leather jacket all the way from his room, and shoving it into his godfather's hands. " I think you're doing a great job."

Sirius shakes his head "I let you get a piercing at fourteen and dye your hair."

"I'm sixteen now, and I look great, thank you," Harry replies, shrinking his trunk to put it in his pocket. "Besides, it was only my ears, and you were supervising in case something went wrong. See? That's good parenting."

"Is it?" Sirius asks, voice suddenly vulnerable. "Because I feel like I haven't done any actual parenting, you've been such a good kid and you spend so much time away, I feel like I'm barely doing anything," he sighs.

"That's because I'm a fucking delight and never give any trouble."

Sirius smiles with soft eyes. "No, you only get almost killed and give me heart attacks."

Harry grimaces, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "Yeah, sorry about that."

“Just… I know it sounds hypocritical coming from me of all people, but—Try not to get into too much trouble this year, yeah? For me?” he asks with bright grey eyes, a sad expression on his face.

Something inside Harry softens. “I’ll be safe,” he promises.

Sirius smiles sadly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, ready to apparate them away.

"Let's go, then."

Draco is waiting for him in their usual seats in the train, and Harry smiles brightly when he gets up to greet him with a kiss on his cheek, having to get on the tip of his toes to do so.

"Hello, beautiful," he greets the blond.

"Hello, handsome," Draco replies.

"Blergh," Ron fake gags from his seat behind Draco.

"Oh. Hi, Ron," he says.

Harry frowns as he takes the seat next to Draco, on the opposite side to Hermione and Pansy. The youngest Weasley boy tends to spend his time with the other Gryffindors in his year, only occasionally joining Harry and Draco's group when Neville convinces him too.

But Neville isn't here yet. It’s just the three boys, Hermione, Pansy, and Tracey.

It’s not until Harry follows Ron’s line of sight, that a lightbulb lights up in his brain.

The redhead keeps giving Hermione these looks when she's distracted, biting his lips and fidgeting when their gazes meet, or she stops paying attention to him for too long.

Harry elbows Draco on the side, pointing at them with his eyes.

“I know. Weird, right?” he mouths with his face turned away from them, making Harry bite his lip to stop himself from smiling.

Ron is probably going to realize earlier this time around that he likes Hermione, and soon they’ll get together and go on double dates with Draco and him. Just like old times.

Harry doesn’t have that intense closeness he once had with either of them. No life-threatening circumstances have soldered their bonds, but he still wants them to be happy in this life

He doesn’t notice the way Hermione refuses to meet Ron’s gaze, or keeps his answers to him short and to the point, before going back to talking freely with the girls.

“So how exactly does this ‘aged up’ thing actually work?” Pansy eventually asks, halfway through the ride. “I mean, besides the obvious,” she adds, shamelessly ogling at Harry.

On his seat, Draco huffs.

Harry and Hermione just trade looks. They haven’t spoken again about Hermione’s ‘dreams’ and Harry can tell she’s just waiting for the perfect opportunity to corner him and talk his ear off about it.

“According to Madam Pomfrey, the time sand in the time-turner I was wearing made us age around two years—which was the maximum limit on the model I was wearing—in less than ten minutes,” she says, clicking the pen in her hand. “So our physical bodies, along with our magic cores are now 17520 hours older than they would have been had the explosion not happened."

Ron frowns in confusion, and Pansy speaks up again. “So you basically got to skip the awkward parts of puberty and go straight to your glow ups,” she summarizes.

“And we also basically lost two years of our life expectancy,” Hermione adds, jaw firmly clenched.

“What!?” several voices exclaim at once, and Harry flinches as Draco's nails dig into his skin.

"We aged," Hermione explains. "Those two years still happened, just in a condensed amount of time. It's not that we look older. We are older. Our magic is the only reason we didn't die from a lack of nutrients as we experienced cellular senescence. That's the reason we passed out in the first place. Our bodies needed the energy to grow and when what we had wasn't enough, our magic cores provided it."

The compartment falls quiet.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Draco asks, looking at Harry with uncertain eyes.

He can feel everyone's eyes on him, and he moves to hold onto Draco's arms, squeezing and rubbing them soothingly. "Woah, there. I swear I didn't know that," he tells the blond. "I don't even know what cellular sene-whatever is. And I still plan to stick by your side until we're old and grey, remember?"

“It just means cellular aging,” Hermione huffs.

Draco bites his bottom lip, still not meeting his gaze, but he nods regardless.

"So, you two got… engaged?"  Tracey asks, trying to light up the mood.

Draco looks confused, before remembering that the girl couldn't attend Harry's birthday party, and then he shakes his head.

"Harry just started courting me. He's expected to do so for at least a year before he can propose, and he has to be of age first, to prove that he can provide not only for me as a would-be husband, but also for himself as an adult man."

Ron nods knowingly. "So technically speaking, Harry could propose at the end of the school year with no issue, since he's turning 17," he says.

"I could," Harry replies, smiling placidly.

Draco turns sharply towards him. "Harry James Potter, you are not proposing to me while we're still in school."

Harry rolls his eyes, putting an offended hand on his chest. "I would never," he says, mentally moving some of his plans back until graduation day.

Pansy squints. "Didn't you start courting Draco literally less than five minutes after you turned the required age to do so?"

“I turned sixteen," Harry reminded her. "I could have asked him anytime after the explosion if I wanted,” Harry shrugs.

“Why didn’t you?” Tracey asks, while Draco looks at him with calculating eyes.

“Had to make it perfect for this one,” Harry replies, casually throwing one arm around Draco’s shoulders

His boyfriend sinks into his embrace, content with his answer.

It's not a bad way to spend the rest of the train ride.

Once they're close to Hogsmeade's station, they change into their school robes in groups. The girls do so inside the compartment, while Harry plays guard on the door, and Ron and Draco go to the bathroom to change there.

The girls take their sweet time getting dressed, and by the time the train stops, Harry is still wearing his day clothes while the rest of them are in their uniforms.

"Just wait for me outside the train,”  he tells them as he enters the empty compartment to change. 

It doesn’t take him much to do so, having magic to help, but by the time he comes out, the train’s hallway is empty.

Well, almost empty. Just as he’s exiting a hurried figure crashes against him, almost making him topple over.

“Ahh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there, " Neville Longbottom tells him apologetically.

"Oh, hey, Nev. no worries, it was just an accident," he reassures the Gryffindor boy.

“Harry! Sorry I couldn’t join you, guys,” Neville tells him apologetically as they walk to get off the train. “I met somebody and got distracted, and then I forgot my wand on my seat and—”

But Harry isn’t listening, because then his gaze falls on someone he’s been trying to avoid the last two years. With hair as yellow as corn and eyes as blue as the ocean, the young girl wearing dirigible plums is waiting for them on the station

“Harry Potter,” she greets him the exact way she always does.

“Luna Lovegood,” Harry responds in kind.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been hoping we could be friends again.”

“We can,” Harry says calmly, even though his heart is racing a mile an hour.

“Maybe this cycle will be kinder,” she says absentmindedly, before her eyes fall on Hermione and she adds. “That’s unexpected.” 

“What?” Ron asks Harry as he walks towards the group, but Harry pays him no mind. He can feel his heart on his throat.

“Do you know each other?” Neville asks with a frown.

Luna smiles placidly, leaving to walk towards the carriages.

Harry just nods.

She knows.

That’s two people now, counting Hermione.

He had a plan in place for Luna. Namely, stopping her bullies before they started their bullying and hoping their paths didn’t cross for the entirety of his Hogwarts career.

He’d been successful with one of those things, at least. During the whole Heir of Slytherin affair he threatened her main bully into compliance, and got her petrified when she didn’t listen. Her house had left Luna alone after that.

It’s not that he dislikes her, really. In fact, he’d go as far as to say that she’s one of the people he’s ever felt closest to. The problem lies in the fact that Luna sees things. Things like nargles, blibbering humdingers, and crumple-horned snorkacks. Things like the past, the present, and the future.

It’s not hard to see why that would be a problem to Harry.

The last time he saw her, properly saw her, he was sacrificing her along with their entire reality for a chance to get back at Draco, and granted, she said she forgave him right as it happened, but that doesn’t stop Harry from feeling that guilt when faced with her innocent blue eyes.

He knows he’s a killer, his hands are more than stained with the blood of his enemies. They’re soaked, but the ritual didn’t claim just his enemies. It cost everything. He doesn’t regret it, not when Draco is alive and happy and by his side, but the idea of being discovered does worsen his mood.

Luckily, he has Draco to bring his mind somewhere else, and by the time they make it to the castle’s doors, he’s feeling better about himself.

As much as he can.

Harry walks towards the Slytherin table with his boyfriend on his arm. He can feel the stares of all the students as they pass by, and for once, Harry doesn't mind them.

Stare all you want, he says in his mind. A look is all you get. 

He's mine.

After the sorting ends, he tries not to look at the professors’ table as they have dinner, unwilling to meet Remus’ eyes. He wonders if the man is doing the same on his end, or if he’s desperately trying to meet Harry’s eyes even once.

Dumbledore starts his speech announcing the TriWizard Tournament, but just then, as if staged, a deafening rumble of thunder rings at the same time that the doors to the Great Hall bang open.

Fake-Moody makes his entrance.

As the man limps towards the professors table, Harry can hear the whispers from the students. The Defense professor position is still filled, after all, and no other professor seems to be missing. Fake-Moody shakes Dumbledore’s hand and the headmasters introduces him brightly as a new security measure put in place for this year’s event.

The reveal of the Tournament is met with thunderous applause.

“The heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an agreed restriction on contenders this year,” the headmaster announces. “Only students who are at least sixteen years or older will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration.”

Gasps, cheers, and complaints fill out the room.

Harry simply raises an eyebrow, and squeezes Draco’s hand under the table.

“This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the Tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students without their O.W.L.s will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no overeager student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts’ Champion.” 

On the other side of the room, Fred and George seem to be planning some mischief already, but the headmaster only has eyes for someone.

His twinkling eyes meet Harry’s, and he quickly throws a mental shield when he feels the first legilimency probe coming. He only lets the headmaster feel cautious intrigue. “I wish the best of luck to those students who are sixteen and older and wish to compete,” he says, finishing his speech, and leaving the students free to finish their dessert.

Draco immediately turns to him.

“You aren’t planning to put your name in, are you?” his boyfriend asks over the ocean of voices that suddenly floods the room.

“‘course not,'' Harry tells him, taking a bite of the treacle tart that just appeared on his plate. “I’m gonna be too busy showing my intended off to the international public,” he finishes with his mouth full of food.

He won’t need to put his name. Fake-Moody will do it for him. Hell, maybe even Dumbledore himself will do it. He wouldn’t put it past the headmaster to take the opportunity to test him.

Draco just looks at him with skeptical eyes. “Don’t speak with your mouth full, you look like a caveman.”

“Uga Uga,” Harry says, showing off the food in his mouth while leaning in for a kiss.

“Don’t be gross!” Draco pushes his face away, laughing as he does so.

Harry loves that laugh, and hopes to hear it from the rest of his life.

Halfway though the term, the full moon comes and Fake-Moody takes over one of Remus’ classes to demonstrate the Unforgivables to a class full of impressionable kids.

He and Remus haven’t spoken yet, but he’d much prefer to have him there than a marked Death Eater teaching them how to control, torture, and kill people.

It goes as well as Harry remembers. It doesn’t help that this time around his class is filled with the kids of Death eaters that publicly renounced Voldemort's cause after his disappearance. Fake-Moody is not amused. He's downright brutal with the Slytherins, and Harry feels tempted to hit him with a bowel expelling curse right then and there when he centers his attention on Draco, asking him about the effects of the Imperius curse.

He’s shaking by the time they leave the class, and Harry has to drag him to an empty classroom to calm down before their next class starts.

“The imperius… Father  used to cast it on me before family gatherings so I wouldn’t embarrass him,” Draco confesses, hiding his face in Harry’s neck. “They're not good memories.”

Harry clenches his jaw “I hate your dad,” he says.

Draco just holds onto Harry’s robes. “The worst part is that it wasn’t even unpleasant, you know?” he says. ”It felt nice. He could have made me do anything and I wouldn’t have cared.”

Harry wraps one arm around him and the other over his head, caressing his wavy hair, giving him as much comfort as he can right now. 

“Never again,” he tells me. “No one is doing that to you while I’m here,”

Of course that promise is a little hard to keep when the next full moon Fake-Moody is back to teach them how to throw off the curse. As soon as they enter the room, Harry guides Draco to the back of the room, hoping to delay his turn.

Student after student goes to the front of the class. Some being able to somewhat resist the effects of the unforgivable, some others, not so lucky. Harry just sits patiently while rubbing a thumb over the back of Draco’s hand joined to his.

Eventually, Harry’s turn comes, and Draco looks at him with worried eyes beneath his pureblood mask. Harry can only give him a reassuring smile in return.

Fake-Moody smiles wickedly when he steps in front of the class, and Harry has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the man.

“Alright, Potter, let’s see what you’ve got. Imperio. ”

Harry closes his eyes and waits for the instructions to come, ready to fight off whatever ridiculous order the professor gives him. But nothing happens.

When his eyes open he can see the confused expression on Fake-Moody’s face. “Er, everything okay?”

“You didn’t feel that, lad?” the professor asks.

“Not really? Maybe you could try again?”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. “ Imperio! ” Fake-Moody casts, more forcibly this time.

Harry waits for that sweet voice in the back of his brain to speak, but it doesn’t come. The professor has a forceful expression on his face, like he’s trying his hardest to make the spell work, but despite that, Harry just stands there without feeling anything.

The students in the class start whispering to each other, and Harry looks down when he hears someone say the word “hands.” Just like before, starting in the tips of his fingers, black tendrils of slightining start spreading out. It’s not painful, it never is, but Draco is looking at him with worried eyes from the back of the classroom and that’s just as bad.

“I think that’s enough,” he tells Fake-Moody, whose face looks red from exertion, and just then the professor draws back his wand, taking a drink from his flask. Harry’s skin goes back to its usual brown.

“We’re done today,” Fake-Moody spits. “You kids can leave now. Class dismissed,” he falls down into his seat, breathing hard.

Fast as lightning, a hand grabs his arm and pulls him away from the room. Harry almost fights it, until he realizes exactly who is pulling him away.

“Are you okay?” he asks Draco as he takes him through multiple hallways.

“‘Am I fine?’ He’s asking if I’m fine, stupid scarhead,” he mutters under his breath, still not speaking to Harry.

“Look, the spell had no effect on me,” Harry tries to appease him as they go up the stairs. “Nothing hurts or anything, there’s no need to worry, love.”

Draco clearly doesn’t share his opinion. “I’ll worry about my boyfriend as much as I want, thank you,” he tells him, and despite his hysterical tone, Harry feels touched.

Once they reach their destination, which apparently is the Room of Requirements, Draco finally frees his arm to pace in front of the door, and when they enter it, their usual room greets them.

“Okay, speak,” Draco demands, not giving any more context.

“Er, about…?”

“The Imperius, Potter. How did you throw it off so easily?” he asks, tapping his foot on the wooden floor.

“Aw, don’t call me Potter. You only do that when you’re mad,” Harry whines.

Draco simply raises an eyebrow.

“Look, I swear I have no idea, I didn’t fight it or anything. I kept waiting for something to happen but it never did,” Harry sighs, dropping into a couch.

The blond Slytherin frowns. “What about your hands? You said that only happens when you do big magic,” he says.

“I never do it consciously, and I have no idea how to control it. Instincts usually take over, but this time it didn’t feel like I was using any more magic than usual.”

Draco stays silent for a few moments before speaking again. “What do you mean more magic than usual?” he asks.

Harry rubs the back of his head, uncomfortable. “You know, basic occlumency shields, spreading my magic sense out a little, a light layer of magic around my skin in case of an attack, the usual.”

Draco blinks at him stupefied. “You do that all the time?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“That— That’s insane, Harry. Do you have any idea how much magic that would take to a regular person?”

“About ten percent?” Harry says after thinking about it. That’s about twice of what it takes for him, rounding it up.

“More than half,” Draco corrects him, unbelieving. “And that’s not counting the energy and mental focus you’d have to spend holding all of it. How are you not exhausted all the time?”

“I’ve been doing it for years, I guess I just got used to it. You know my magic core is bigger than average.”

“Bigger than average,” Draco repeats. “Bloody understatement of the year. You’re ridiculous. I’m dating the most ridiculously powerful wizard after Albus Dumbledore himself,” he says to himself, shaking his head and sitting down next to Harry.

Harry doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, nor does he tell them that he’s probably just as strong as the old man, if not stronger. He just promptly arranges them so they’re cuddling with Draco’s head resting against his chest.

“Hey, Draco,” Harry says, many minutes later, when his boyfriend’s calmed down. “My magic core is not the only part of me that’s bigger than average,” he tells him, wiggling his eyebrows.

Draco snorts in his arms. “You’re so stupid,” he says between laughs, trying to get away.

Harry doesn’t let him, wrapping his arms around him tightly, burying him into his chest. “But you like me anyway~” he sings in his boyfriend’s ear.

Draco finally stops struggling, laughing against his chest. “Only Merlin knows why,” he sighs with a smile.

Harry doesn’t get any answers about his magic before the other schools’ delegations arrive. Rumors about him spread out throughout the school, but that just comes with being a celebrity, so he ignores them. Every time he exits Remus’ class he knows the man wants to talk to him, but unless he actually calls him, Harry is not going to speak to him.

Hermione, however, is a whole other situation. That girl is an unstoppable force when she wants to be.

She corners him during one of his free periods, while he’s in an empty room working on a project for his Ancient Runes class.

“We need to talk,” she says, making Harry’s hand falter and mess up the rune he was carving in the sole of his shoe. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I was making it so my shoes don’t make any noise when I walk, but I think you have other plans,” he grumbles.

“Smart,” she says, crossing her arms. “Dreams. Future. Explain.”

“Those are words,” Harry sasses. “You’ll find their definition in the dictionary. They sort them by alphabetic order you see— Ouch, ow, ow, stop hitting me!”

“Harry James Potter, be serious!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he says, pushing his bangs away from his face. “I don’t know, alright. I mean, I thought they were just nightmares until you said you had them too,” he lies expertly.

“Oh,” she says, voice softening. “Do you think they’re real?”

“No,” Harry answers way too fast, knowing Hermione will pick on it. He then corrects himself, almost nervously “I mean, I don’t know. I just get glimpses of stuff, and definitely not as many as you told me, I’m not in Gryffindor, for one.”

“I’ve had so many,” she admits. “They are so jumbled it makes it hard to figure out what’s actually happening, but they feel almost like memories, you know? but I’ve checked what I can, and as many things as I’ve confirmed there are just as many that don’t match up.”

“Like what?” Harry asks, leaning forward.

She hesitates before speaking. “Do you… Are you a parselmouth?” she asks.

“Not that I know of,” Harry replies, his heart beating fast inside his chest. “Sure would’ve come in handy when I had to fight that basilisk,” he grumbles.

Her shoulders slump down. “That’s what I thought. I also don’t think you lived with Sirius in my dreams, and you played quidditch, and the diadem is not the Room of Lost Things, and— ”

Harry interrupts her. “Woah, woah, slow down! That’s… a lot. Hermione.”

“Why? What have you dreamed of?”

“Just glimpses, I told you,” Harry shrugs, not meeting her eye. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It could be important, Harry!” she argues.

“It’s not,” he turns around clenching his fists, an expectant expression on his face.

Hermione pushes anyway. “C’mon, Harry. just tell me. I need to figure this out.”

“Just drop it, Hermione.”

“Harry, please?”

“I don’t want—”

“If you just—”

“I just see people dying, okay!?” he exclaims, ready for the conversation to be over. “If it’s not my mum getting killed by Voldemort, it’s Sirius vanishing into nothing, or Dumbledore falling from the astronomy tower, or you writhing on the floor,” his voice is barely a whisper in the end. “I don’t like those dreams, Hermione. That’s why I didn’t want to talk about them”

“I— I’m sorry,” she says, and Harry lets his glare soften.

It's not even a lie. His dreams have been plagued by the sight of his loved ones' deaths. Playing in loop one after the other, but lately it’s gotten even worse. He’s been getting less sleep, but somehow he feels just fine. 

“No,” he sighs. “It’s not your fault. Look, can we just drop it? You said it yourself, we have no reason to believe they’re true, I’m certainly not going to let anything happen to Draco.”

Hermione gives him a curious look, and Harry curses himself mentally.

“What happened to Draco, Harry?” she asks, while Harry walks to the door.

“Nothing,” he answers firmly from the door. “Nothing is going to happen to him.”

He won’t let his future become their reality.

And then he goes, leaving a pensive Hermione Granger behind.

When the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrive, he makes sure to put a hand around Draco’s shoulders, giving the evil eye to any french or bulgarian guy that gets too close to his blond. He lets the girls in, and that results in Draco sticking so close to him that he’s practically on his lap, not that Harry’s complaining.

Harry’s finding that a jealous Draco is a handsy Draco and he is very into that.

They end up having dinner between two Durmstrangs students called Adyelya and Antoniya, who tell them tales in broken english about their hunting classes back in Durmstrang. Draco listens eagerly as they retell a story about decapitating a feral nundu.

“I want to be like them when I grow up,” he whispers to Harry, in awe of their beauty and brutality. “Do you think I’d look good with braids like theirs?” he asks looking at their almost viking-like hairstyles

“You’d look beautiful in any hairstyle,” Harry assures him, and before Draco can complain about the non-answer, he adds “But a braid would be specially pretty on you.”

It’s the right answer, because he rewards Harry with a peck on the check. The rest of the dinner passes and Dumbledore introduces the goblet of fire to the enthusiastic students, announcing that they have until noon the following day to put their names in.

He makes sure to spend the entire day under Draco's watch. He's participating in the tournament one way or another, either Fake-Moody will confound the goblet and put his name under a fourth school, or Dumbledore himself will put his name and the goblet will pick him. Call him cocky, but he knows he's the best prepared student in Hogwarts for the tournament. Something big would have to happen for that to change.

But the next day, just as Harry waits for either Cedric or him to be called, the name Dumbledore ends up saying is an entirely different one.

“The Champion for Hogwarts will be… Hermione Granger!”

And Harry knows he fucked up.

Chapter Text

As soon as Hermione’s name is called, the Great Hall falls quiet.

The student body from Hogwarts, like Harry, would have never pictured Hermione Granger of all people being chosen as Hogwarts’ Champion. It’s not that Harry doesn’t believe she’s an excellent witch, but the fact that she put her name forward for the tournament at all is not a possibility he’d imagined. To the rest of the school she is just a muggleborn bookworm with perfect grades and an obsession with following rules, so it takes them a while to react at all.

She stands tall, not letting that deter her. With squared shoulders, she looks straight ahead as she walks towards the professor’s table, only straying away to meet Harry's gaze for an instant, a hint of relief in her dark brown eyes. 

Luna is the first to start clapping, and soon hesitant cheers start coming from the Gryffindors, by the time she makes it, almost all the school is clapping for her, including him and his confused boyfriend, but excluding some of the most fervent blood purists. Harry mentally burns their faces in his memory.

Hermione keeps a determined look on her face as she takes the piece of paper from the headmaster, and advances to the next room with her head tall.

And then Draco turns to look at him. “Did you know?” he asks.

Harry can only shake his head, astonished. He doesn’t even notice when his name is the next one called by the headmaster.

Draco, however, does.

“What!? No!” the blond exclaims, standing up to cover Harry from Dumbledore’s gaze. “There has to be a mistake! Harry couldn’t have put his name in the cup. He was with me the entire day.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, looking at him, at the same time that Draco looks back with teary eyes. It’s then that his brain comes back online, and he realizes that all the eyes in the room are on him. "I didn't put my name in," he tells Draco.

"I know," he mutters. "It has to be a mistake."

But the headmaster keeps calling his name regardless.

Remus is also standing up now, only Andromeda’s hand firmly clutched on his arm stops him while she speaks to him in harsh whispers that Harry can’t hear.

"I'll let you know what happens," he promises Draco, giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"You fucking better. I'm not going to let my future husband die in this stupid tournament."

Harry smiles at his words, using the feeling to cast his patronus as he walks towards the professors table, sending a message in a casual display of his power.

“Go to Padfoot,” he tells his phoenix. “Tell him that someone fucked up and I need a responsible parent’s help,” and a drama queen to create a distraction , he doesn’t add.

Snape scoffs and almost takes points from him for the curse word, but then he seems to remember what Harry’s actual house is and falls silent. The rest of the room just mutters and whispers between themselves, and Harry can’t say that he missed the feeling of it.

All the people in the antechamber turn to look at him when he enters it, but it’s Hermione who looks the palest, despite her dark skin. "H—Harry? What are you doing here?" she asks, genuine confusion in her voice.

"Er, my name was called too, I guess," Harry shrugs, looking down.

"No.." she whispers, despair filling her voice. She starts muttering under her breath, but Harry can still vaguely hear her say "This wasn't supposed to happen," as the rest of the professors enter the room.

It doesn’t take much for the adults in the room to start arguing, but Hermione only has eyes for Fake-Moody.

So she remembers that, he thinks. Just how much does she remember?

He has no time to wonder, because then Dumbledore gets close to him, speaking in a soft voice that has Harry’s hair standing on end.  “Harry, did you put your name in the goblet of fire?” he asks.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ at the end, refusing to meet his eyes, his mind still trying to assimilate the fact that Hermione also went and got her name into the tournament.

“Did you ask someone to—”

“I didn’t," Harry interrupts with an exhausted voice  "Does that mean I can go?” he asks, despite already knowing the answer.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, my boy. Your name being chosen constitutes a binding contract. It’s too late now,” he tells Harry with a sad look that doesn’t reach his eyes

After that more fighting ensues. The adults in the room struggle to speak over each other while debating what to do with Harry and the tournament. By his side, Hermione fidgets with her school robes.

It must be difficult for her, being in the room while so many authority figures argue with each other. She’s not like Harry, who is an adult in a body younger than he really is. Up until he caused that explosion, she had been a regular 14 year old girl. A couple of disjointed memories of her future don’t really give her the maturity she thinks she now possesses. No haircut or change of style will give her the experience to stand up to people until she actually decides to do it herself.

Harry himself doesn’t worry too much about the argument going on in the room. He already knows where this is going: Dumbledore will pretend to be mad while doing absolutely nothing to help, while the head of houses in the room follow his lead and the other headmasters fume internally, but then something else happens.

“HARRY!” A voice interrupts the headmaster mid sentence, followed by a loud crashing noise that makes all the people in the room wince. A few awkward seconds later, a crazy eyed Sirius Black steps into the room, wand held firmly and pointed high in front of him.

“Where is my godson!?” he growls, pointing to the nearest person, which just happens to be Snape.

The professor has an insult on the tip of his tongue, but Harry speaks faster. “Over here,” he calls and Sirius is on him in an instant.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?” the man asks, hands on his head and moving him around to check for signs of injury.

“Not hurt, just had an emergency that most likely requires a parent to step up. Don’t you think so, Professor McGonagall?”

The woman seems surprised at being addressed, and for a second her gaze travels to Snape and Dumbledore, but she bounces back quickly when she sees the sour expression on the Slytherin’s Head’s face..

“Indeed,” she agrees, after clearing her throat, and then proceeds to catch him up on the situation  while the rest of the adults listen to her authoritative voice.

Sirius listens eagerly before answering “Well, he’s obviously not competing. He’s a minor, and I didn’t give him permission to join any death tournaments,” Sirius explains. “Not that I think you joined willingly, Harry.”

“You don’t?” he asks, just a little surprised.

“You said you didn’t, and I believe you,” Sirius nodded.

It’s a nice show of support, but not enough to get Harry out of the tournament, not that he really wants to get out. The commotion does give him the opportunity to slip a small runestone in Karkaroff’s pocket while Fake-Moody and Dumbledore are busy trying to stop Sirius and Snape from coming to blows, Viktor Krum attempts to speak with Hermione while the short haired girl takes notes in a piece of parchment she summoned out of nowhere, and Fleur Delacour argues in fast french with Madame Maxine.

It’s pure, unadulterated, chaos.

Draco is up and pacing around their room when Harry comes back. They only let him and the other champions go after it was already past curfew, not a single student left in the Great Hall. Remus was waiting for them with Andromeda, but Sirius took one look at him and directed Harry to go directly to his room.

Harry hadn’t fought him on that. 

He sneaks past the expectant crowd in the common room under his invisibility cloak. He doesn’t go anywhere without it since it lets him avoid situations exactly like this one. Let them celebrate between themselves that a Slytherin gets to be a champion, they probably don’t even care if he cheated to get in, but Harry has a cute blond waiting for him.

His boyfriend is not happy when he learns that Harry will be forced to compete in the tournament, and that almost no one believed Harry when he told them that he hadn’t put his name in the goblet. He’s even less happy when Harry tells him that Moody and Dumbledore believe someone is trying to get him killed.

“That’s— That’s—” Draco stammers.

“Bullshit?” Harry tries.

“I have no time for muggle expressions right now, Harry! That’s so irresponsible! Hermione and you are sixteen only by a technicality! You have no business participating in that tournament! And you didn’t even put your name in!” He growls.

“Do you think Hermione put her own name in?” he asks, just to send his mind somewhere else.

“I… Hadn’t thought about that,” the blond admits, suddenly stilling. “I didn’t imagine her as the type, but lately she seems different, don’t you think? Did she say anything while the two of you were in the antechamber?”

Harry shakes her head. “She was just surprised that I was there, too. She seemed mad, but not at me. Kept writing stuff down on a piece of parchment.”

Draco nods thoughtfully. “We’ll have to ask her tomorrow.”

“That’s a good plan,” Harry praises him. “Join me in bed?” he asks with his best puppy eyes.

Draco folds easily, and Harry smiles as he fits himself in Harry’s arms, closing his eyes before sleep takes over them.

He gets a standing ovation from the Slytherins when he comes out of his bedroom the next morning, but he feels like death warmed over, so he simply grunts in response.

He didn’t get much rest last night. Another nightmare about death had woken him up, which would have been normal enough for him, if it weren’t for the fact that he had no idea who the person who died was.

His brain’s apparently so used to making him see his friends and family die that it started making up random people for Harry to see pass on instead. Not a fun night of sleep. He’d almost considered waking Draco up to see if he wanted to snog until sunrise, but instead chose to get some mind magic practice on with his new favorite test subjects.

He had managed to make them forget how long Harry had been holding them captive when Carrow had started bleeding from the nose. So he had to go back to bed, and after that he’d barely closed his eyes before Draco woke him up for breakfast.

So he’s not really starting the day in a cheery mood.

Luckily, it’s a sunday, so he doesn’t have to worry about showing up for class, he simply plops his arse down on the slytherin table and fills his plate with whatever food’s closest, which in his case just happens to be oatmeal.

Gross.

He starts eating anyway.

Hermione comes to his table a few minutes after he starts eating with a muggle notebook clenched tightly in her arms. He doesn’t get to say a word before she’s shoving herself in the empty seat next to him.

“I think we should work together for the tournament,” she says without preamble.

“Sure,” he replies, his mouth full with food. “I love breaking rules.”

Draco punches him in the arm for it.

“Hermione simply huffs. “It’s not against the rules,” she says. “I checked and they only prevent us champions from getting help from our professors and the judges.”

“Hmmm,” Harry says, pretending to listen. “Yeah, about that. Did you put your name in, or was it someone else?

“I entered myself,” she replies, straightening the folds of her skirt. “I wanted to test myself against other schools and see how England’s education system compared.”

Lie , Harry wants to say. It’s obvious—at least to him—that she’s not being truthful. Her body language is all wrong for that.

"We're going to kick arse together for Hogwarts, then," he jokes, ignoring the shakiness of her smile.

"Of course," she replies, swallowing hard. "We'll win. I have plans."

"I often find that the best plan is to not have a plan at all," a sudden voice startles them, chilling Harry's bones and fully waking him up.

"Hi, Luna," he says to her, ignoring his elevated heart rate. "When did you get here?" 

"Oh, I was born thirteen years and nine months ago, give or take a few days," she replies, eating a blueberry.

"No, I meant—Nevermind," Harry gives up.

"What did you mean earlier, Luna?" Hermione asks.

"How early?" the blonde girl wonders. "Because if you mean this morning when I told the nargles about the Rotfang conspiracy, I think I made myself very clear then."

Harry and Hermione trade looks, sighing at her antics.

"You're weird, Lovegood," Draco tells her.

"Thank you," she replies, smiling sweetly.

They continue eating just like that, talking strategy with Hermione and letting Luna explain her creatures to them. It's nice, Harry thinks, until someone comes stomping to their table and proceeds to darken their mood.

“Hermione, what are you doing here?” Ron hisses as soon as he arrives. “You shouldn’t be sitting with that cheater."

Oh, yeah. He’d forgotten about Ron’s hissy fit.

“Ron! Harry didn’t cheat!” Hermione answers, clearly exasperated.

He simply ignores the redhead, filling his mouth instead with a spoonful of oatmeal. Draco, however, takes offense to his comment. 

“Harry didn’t put his name in the goblet, Weasley. He spent the entire night with me. He couldn’t have done it if he wanted.”

“And I didn’t want to,” Harry adds unhelpfully, mouth still full.

Ron ignores that. “Look, mate. I get that you wanted to compete. We all did, but to try and steal the attention from Hermione like that was fucked up. You could at least have told us what you were going to do,” he huffs.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” Hermione hisses. “Why would Harry even do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know maybe the glory, fame and fortune that he could win!?” he snarls at Harry.

Harry snorts, counting with his fingers. “Already rich, already famous, already have all the glory I need,” he says, grabbing Draco’s hand and kissing it, “and Sirius, Dumbledore, and Moody believed me when I said it wasn’t me.”

Draco just nods, pretending that he isn’t pink all over the face. “And please, Harry signs as Harry James Potter, not Harry Potter. It's obvious someone is trying to set him up.”

Ron clenches his jaw and grits his teeth. “You’re just saying that because you just have his prick too far up your arse to to see the truth,” he spits. "For all we know, you're helping him cover up like the slimy snake you are."

“Ronald Billius Weasley! What’s wrong with you?” Hermione bellows, but Harry only has eyes for Draco, and he’s frozen in his seat.

He’s furious, Harry can tell. He is too, obviously, but his focus is on his boyfriend rather than his idiot friend. Draco stands up in a hurry, clearly intending to rip Ron a new one. Before he can do that, though, Harry grabs him by the wrist.

"What!?" his boyfriend practically snarls at him.

Harry raises an eyebrow, and Draco blushes, an apology on the back of his throat.

"His mum is off—limits and no insults about him being poor," Harry simply tells Draco, before freeing his arm, to the furious confusion of Hermione. Draco just looks at him with wide eyes, before his expression is replaced by a vicious one, a sharp grin taking over.

Suddenly Harry's trousers feel tighter.

Ron is always hungry, he can do with a bite or two of humble pie.

Draco turns around again, standing in front of Ron. He's shorter than the Gryffindor, but he stands tall and with his shoulders squared while Ron is crouching, a pissed off expression on his face.

“I’m sorry that you’re so boring you think everyone else is as desperate for attention as you are, Weasel. I’d blame your parents for not giving you enough attention, but I know Ginny and the twins, and they turned out just fine, so it’s obviously just a ‘ you ’ problem," Draco says in a sweet voice. "Maybe it’s because you’re so utterly talentless you think being moderately good at chess and hating Slytherins is a substitute for a personality, but for the people living in the real world, it doesn’t work like that."

Ron looks livid, ready to explode on his face, but before he can do that, Draco casts a silencio on him with the wand hidden in his pocket.

"Just because you would have given your left bollock for a chance at dying in the tournament doesn’t mean Harry put his name into that goblet, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand the choices of someone with an IQ of over one digit—No, you don’t need to answer, I already know every argument you could make. Wah, Harry’s lying, wah, I’m jealous, wah, he’s a bad friend and a cheater, wah, wah, wah. Did I miss something?" Draco asks, but Ron still can't make a single sound. "I didn’t think so. You should go back to your Gryffindor friends before you do something in front of the whole Slytherin table that you’ll regret, and trust me, Weasel, you will regret it ”

Ron’s face turns as red as his hair, his mouth gaping. He looks around for someone who’s on his side, but when it becomes obvious that no one is going to fight for him, the Slytherins eyeing him as one as if he were prey they can’t wait to pick on. He furiously turns around and stomps his way out of the Great Hall, leaving the crowd silent as they all stare at Draco.

Hermione is the first one to speak after that.

"That was…"

"—kind of hot, Draco," Pansy interrupts. "Are you sure you're not into women at all?" she asks, leaning forward on the table and batting her eyelashes.

"Alright, back off now. He's taken," Harry has to say, dragging him into his lap, and if Draco can feel his hard on under his robes, he says nothing of it. He simply huffs and moves his plate to continue eating his breakfast, and suddenly the mood lightens up again in the Slytherin table, to the consternation of the rest of the school.

It sets the tone for the rest of Harry’s interactions the following days.

Someone has a bad thing to say about Harry, and pretty soon Draco is coming down on them, terrorizing them with his words as Harry watches entranced from the background. Draco hasn’t really gotten into many verbal spats in Hogwarts since Harry befriended him, him being almost always there to deescalate any situation the blond finds himself in, second year notwithstanding.

He'd missed his dragon’s spitfire, especially when it’s aimed at someone who had wronged their unit. It made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

Those butterflies, however, turn into something much less pleasant the next day, when Remus asks him to stay after class in his office.

"Professor Lupin," Harry greets him with a nod, not reacting when Remus flinches in response.

Neither of them says anything for a while after that, the tension in the air clogging both their throats, but then Remus seems to remember he's the adult in the room and clears his throat before speaking.

"Harry…I'm—I'm so sorry," he says, his voice betraying how tired he is. "For speaking behind your back, and leaving you and Sirius behind, and not taking care of you before you got Sirius free, and not talking to you about any of this before now."

Harry stands still, his green eyes glued on Remus' repentant expression.

“It was never my intention to make up conspiracies about you behind your back, or to share things about you that weren't mine to tell. I shouldn't have said a lot of the things I said that night."

Harry bites his bottom lip, nodding his head. “Most of what you said was true, though," he admits. “About me being abused, or about my obsession with Draco, and if I stayed with the Dursleys any longer than I did I probably would have set myself on fire."

He means it as a joke, but Remus flinches when he speaks. "Harry—" he tries to answer but Harry isn't done talking just yet.

"Draco thrives on attention, you know? He loves that I think so much about him, and after…all that happened to me, I really needed someone that I could cling to. If he really wanted me to, I would back off." And then he would find a way to worm himself back into his good graces, obviously.

Remus listens intently with a sad expression on his face, only opening his mouth once Harry's done.

"I… I know the two of you are happy as you are. It's hard not to notice when it's so clear by the way you look, and sound, and smell when you are together. I shouldn't have spoken about your relationship with him at all. I'm sorry, cub," Remus says. "You don't need to explain yourself."

Harry wonders about that. "But…that's kind of what started it, isn't it? Me not speaking up about—Well, anything, I guess," he shrugs. “For the record, I don't think I'm at risk of becoming an obscurial or anything, but I also don't know what's going on with my magic."

"I could—I mean, would you let me help you?" he asks. "I can't do much about you being in the tournament, despite Sirius' demands that I rig the whole thing in your favor if I have to, but tell me how to fix this, please."

Harry thinks about it before speaking. "This is something I have to figure out for myself, I think," and just as he says it, he realizes that it's the truth.

"Oh," Remus replies, dejected.

Harry throws his head back, slightly exasperated. “Look, you’re kinda putting the weight of the world on your shoulders when you don't have to," Harry of all people would know about that. "You don't have to solve every issue you come across, Remus."

"I just want to fix this…"

"If I'm honest I'm more pissed about the fact that you just up and abandoned Sirius than about anything you said about me," he tells him point blank. "If you really want something to fix, you should probably focus on that."

"I doubt Sirius wants to talk to me again," Remus replies, voice full of self pity.

Harry has to fight the urge to groan. “You know, he’s still waiting for you," he tells him instead.

“What?”

“Sirius. He still thinks that you’ll come back eventually,' Harry clarifies.

“He does?” Remus asks hopefully.

Harry nods “And then he thinks you’ll leave again,” he continues, “and then you’ll come back again, and then you’ll leave again, and then—well, you get the point”

Remus winces.

“Do you really want to be with him? I think you need to decide if you’re going to stay with him or stay away, and let him know what you come up with, or else he’s going to drive himself mad all alone in that house. I saw him wearing dressing robes, Moony. Dressing robes ," Harry stresses.

Remus grimaces.

"See you later, professor."

He doesn't stay to see the look on his face.

Hermione and him start a training regimen that would make anyone lesser break down into tears. Her surgical control of her magic makes her a force to contend with, but Harry has also developed some control of his own so he doesn't fall behind.

He's not surprised when he manages to outrun her in the morning jogs she's assigned them, but she's in overall better physical shape than he would have expected her to be. Sometimes Luna joins them, not to train, but to draw. Harry is terrified the first time he finds her and Hermione alone in a room, but it seems that just like in his past life, Hermione doesn’t know how to make heads or tails of anything the blonde girl says.

She’s not the only person to join them in their training sessions. The champions of Hogwarts have become quite notorious, and not necessarily in a good way. Hermione is not very popular in Ravenclaw, and the blood purists still refuse to show her support, while the rest of the Gryffindors have decided to show their support for their champion by rallying against Harry. 

At least they don’t have to worry about Rita Skeeter and her annoying articles putting the general public against them this time around. The woman hasn’t been seen since the day of the weighing of wands ceremony. On a completely unrelated note, that same day an ugly bug flies into Draco’s hair, and Harry being the good boyfriend that he is, squishes it and sets it on fire.

Her replacement is much more restrained with his words.

It doesn’t solve their negative attention problem inside of Hogwarts, though. So their friends make the decision to stick by their sides in case anyone tries anything against either of them.

Harry has a great time seeing them collapse on themselves as soon as their training ends.

"How do you even know what to train for?" Draco asks from the floor one morning he decides to join them. "I thought they didn't tell you what the task would be."

"It's dragons," Harry, Hermione, and Luna reply at the same time. The former two exchange looks as they do so, but Luna is too busy painting a flower with her eyes closed to see.

Draco frowns. "That's—How did you find out? Why didn't you tell me!? Oh, Salazar, are they trying to kill you!?" he asks, bewildered.

"Sirius found out and told me in his last letter," Harry lies expertly, thankful that Sirius had written to him this morning. "I forgot to tell you during breakfast."

"I deduced it from something Charlie Weasley said when I saw him in the train station back in September," is Hermione's explanation, "but I had no way to confirm it."

The three of them turn to look at Luna. "It's always dragons," she says sagely, before turning her painting upside down.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” Draco asks, closing his eyes in frustration.

“I do,” Harry reassures him. “I’m going to fly.” It had worked well enough for him the first time around, he doesn’t see the point in fixing something that isn’t broken.

“I’m going to become a widow at fourteen,” Draco laments, burying his face in his hands.

Hermione bites her lip. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks.

Harry doesn’t change his expression as he glances towards her. “Moody saw me flying on the broom Sirius got me last year and told me to stick to my strengths, reminded about the summoning charm.”

He can see her struggle to stop herself from saying something about Fake-Moody. “Just be careful,” is the only thing that ends up coming from her mouth.

“Careful is my middle name,” Harry replies.

From the floor, Draco sighs. “At least I know I’ll look good wearing all black.”

He’s scared, Harry can tell, but he refuses to show it. During the nights he clings to Harry’s body like he’s going to slip away from his fingers if he doesn't tighten his grip enough. Harry can only run a hand through his back as he slowly soothes him into a deep sleep, their bodies rocking under the soft bluegreen light of their underwater window.

The closer they get to the day of the task, the more frantic the school gets. Hermione starts to look like she did when she was neck deep into classes last year and Draco is extra needy. Sirius writes to him almost daily telling him different useful spells he learned from his time in the aurors, and Remus’ classes start talking about dragons despite the fact that they’re nowhere near this year’s curriculum. Ron even tries to help and sends Harry an anonymous note telling him to go to the forbidden forest the night the dragons arrive to Hogwarts.

If he takes the opportunity to set up a few safety nets, only him and the Hungarian Horntail will ever know about it.

When the day of the task comes Draco practically glues himself to Harry's side, refusing to let him go until he's called to join the rest of the champions inside the tent.

The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons champions seem confident, if a little nervous, but Hermione is practically shaking in her seat, muttering different spell chains to herself under her breath.

“You okay?” Harry asks, taking the empty seat beside hers. They’re just waiting for the judges to come and tell them their tasks.

“Yes, it’s only a dragon, nothing to worry about. Only around three tons of muscle, teeth and fire breath. What could possibly go wrong!?” she practically yells the last part, attracting the attention of the other champions, and earning herself a raised eyebrow from Fleur Delacour. “Sorry,” she mutters. 

Harry sighs, casting a silencing ward around them. “Hermione, why did you put your name in the goblet? The truth this time,” he asks.

She bites her bottom lip before speaking, looking anywhere but at him. “Someone is going to get hurt, badly ,” she admits in a low voice. “I saw it in one of my dreams—and I know we have no guarantee of them being entirely accurate, but I…I couldn’t risk it.”

Harry wonders if she’s talking about him or about Cedric. Is she doing this out of a sense of loyalty towards him, or is she trying to prevent the death of someone she barely even knows? Harry can’t fathom it being the latter, not when he can’t even come up with a memory of Cedric and her interacting.

Once upon a time Harry would have laid down his life for even a random bystander, but the Harry that stands today isn’t willing to risk himself for anyone other than his people. Can’t ever risk leaving Draco behind to spare some random soul their inevitable demise.

He doesn’t tell Hermione any of this. He just grabs her hand in a comforting gesture and speaks with conviction. “We’ll be fine,” he tells her.

She returns a weak smile.

Soon after that they’re being told to choose a dragon, and Harry, as luck would have it, gets the Hungarian Horntail, because why wouldn’t he? Of course he gets the hardest dragon again. He simply sighs in resignation when the dragon model bites him. At least he’ll be able to show off in front of Draco , he tells himself.

Despite her previous nerves, Hermione manages to perform well enough in the task to tie in second place. Harry only learns this after the fact, but she uses a chain of spells to lower the temperature around the dragon, making it easier for it to fall asleep, before casting a sleeping charm on the beast, and transfiguring a rock into a small helper that she then casts layer after layer of defensive magic in. It’s almost anticlimactic when the little creature waddles all the way to the golden egg and retrieves without a single scorch mark despite getting directly hit by a fire sneeze from the dragon, but the magic must have been intricate enough for the judges, because she is rewarded with a score of 40.

Fleur and Viktor act exactly as he remembers. The Beauxbatons champion panicks when her skirt gets set on fire (and is her Veela blood too diluted for her to have a natural resistance to the element?) and Viktor casts a spell at the dragon’s eyes that makes it accidentally crash the eggs. It’s only an unnamed person’s forethought that protects them from any harm in the end, a shimmering shield that softens the impact until it's little more than a caress, but the judges aren’t too happy with him regardless.

When Harry’s turn comes he decides to do things with style. He blows a kiss to Draco on the stands before summoning his broom from below the stands where he left it earlier. He barely manages to avoid the dragon's breath as he mounts it and sets off in the air.

He's always loved flying. Quidditch had been thrilling in his past life, had fed his competitive side and his thirst for victory, but flying? That had been something else entirely. It was power. It was freedom. It was breathing for the first time after being submerged in water. The fact that a dragon is trying to kill him while he does one of the things he loves the most doesn't stop him from enjoying himself.

He manages to lure the dragon into the air and away from the eggs without much issue, but that's when the true fun begins. He narrowly avoids the dragon's tail as it swings it wildly, pulling maneuvers that would put many professional seekers to shame, twisting and turning in the air as he practically dances with the beast, and then he's going up, up, up in the sky and above the clouds, breathing in the pure air he can't find anywhere else.

And then he lets himself fall.

The dragon spits fire upwards, but Harry's diving down too fast. He can't change his trajectory at the speed he's going, so he pushes his entire body against the broom and grins manically as he lets his magic run wild.

He doesn't close his eyes as he crosses the fire. He keeps them wide open to witness the reds and oranges and blues of the dragon's breath, its very essence.

He can tell the fire is burning his clothes, but he only feels a light tingle in his skin. It doesn't hurt, and he cackles as he passes the dragon down and pulls back up barely meters above the ground.

The dragon is still looking for traces of him in the sky, so Harry faces no opposition as he rescues his golden egg, showing it off to the public as the crowd goes wild.

He's berated for his stunt almost immediately. Madam Pomfrey doesn't listen to his assurance that he's fine before she casts every diagnosis spell she knows on him, but in the end she huffs as she realizes that besides his scorched clothes, there isn't a single scratch on him.

Thankfully his clothes didn't get so damaged that he has to change, so he gets to leave right after that, but he’s not even halfway out of the medic tent when Draco jumps him. The blond wraps his legs around his waist and Harry has no choice but to hold him up as he connects their mouths in a kiss that leaves his own legs weak. Draco kisses him with desperation, putting all the fears and worries he’s had in it, along with the overwhelming relief that he survived.

Only then Harry feels like a winner.

When they separate, Draco’s feet finally touch the ground, but their foreheads remain pressed together as their breaths come back to them.

“You scared the hell out of me, Harry,” Draco whispers, his eyes firmly closed to stop the tears that threaten to escape from them. 

Harry kisses them away, his fingers buried in soft wavy hair as he replies in the same volume. “There’s nothing on this Earth that could stop me from coming back to you, baby,” he tells him, joining their mouths once again in a slower, sweeter kiss.

They are shortly after interrupted, however. Ron is standing a couple of feet before them, his face red as a tomato.

Harry cocks his head in a silent question when he doesn’t speak for a long time, and that seems to bring the redhead out of his stupor. “Harry, mate. I think someone put your name in the goblet,” the redhead says as soon as his wits come back to him.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t tell him that is okay. Harry simply holds his gaze and reminds him what they all know. “I know, Ron. That’s what we tried to tell you.”

“It only took him nearly a month to catch up,” Draco says, annoyed, burying his face on Harry’s neck to hide his reddened eyes.

Ron glares at him with fury, but stops when Harry gives him a cold look, his green eyes chilling him down to his bones. “I’m— I’m sorry Harry,” he says with difficulty.

“And?” He raises an eyebrow, turning so that both he and his boyfriend are facing him.

Ron looks like he’s being asked to swallow dirt, but with gritted teeth he looks at Draco and speaks. “And I’m.. sorry, Malfoy. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I was out of line.”

“Whatever, Weasel,” Draco huffs. “Just don’t think you’ll get away with it a second time. Your brothers owe me a favor, and they know where you sleep.”

Harry snorts, leaving a frightened Ron behind as they walk towards the podium. After some deliberation, the judges award Harry with a whooping 42 points, putting him in first place. Not bad , he thinks to himself.

The other champions give him congratulations bitterly, except for Hermione, who only looks relieved to see that he’s okay and unharmed. She finished the task without a scratch too, but unlike him, she seems exhausted. They say their goodbyes after Viktor offers to walk her to the castle, and Harry is thinking of doing the same with Draco. He’s done with the day.

Sirius, however, has other plans. His godfather surprises him by wrapping his arms around him as soon as he sees him, both crushing him and lifting him in the air, or trying to do so, at least. “Oh, Merlin, you’re heavy. What do they feed you kids these days?” he asks, before remembering what he came to do.

“Pup! That was amazing! You were amazing!” he exclaims cheerfully. Harry’s sure if he were to turn into Padfoot right now, his tail would be wagging like crazy.

Harry lets him mess with his hair for a couple of minutes before pushing him away between laughs. 

“I knew you could fly but that was something else. James would be proud of you,” Sirius says, his voice softening at the end of the sentence.

They talk as they walk, moving to avoid the hordes of people that want to congratulate Harry and get a picture with the champion. Draco clings to him furiously, practically snarling every time someone gets too close to him. It's adorable.

"I just hope you never have to fly away from a dragon ever again," Sirius says, in the middle of the conversation, suddenly sounding older. "In fact, how about we agree to no more dragons ever."

"Aww, but then I'd end up without a job," a voice pouts behind them, making them all turn.

"Charlie!" Harry exclaims, seeing the Weasley brother.

"Hey, Harry. Nice going there. I've never seen anyone outfly Sally like that."

"Thanks," Harry says, at the same time that Sirius asks "Sally?"

"The Hungarian Horntail, that's her name. Been with us for a couple of years and never gets tired of scaring the crap out of us."

Sirius snorts. "Trust me, I know the feeling," he affirms, clapping Harry's shoulder.

Harry simply raises an eyebrow, but Sirius doesn't notice. He's too busy ogling Charlie's well built figure.  "I don't think we've been introduced."

“Charlie Weasley, a pleasure to meet you,” he introduces himself with a roguish smile, offering a hand after pushing his messy hair out his face. 

“Sirius Black,” his godfather replies, shaking the offered hand with an amused smile. “Harry’s told me you’re a beast on a broom.”

“Oh, I am,” Charlie replies smugly, his grin revealing a sharp canine ready to bite. “You play?”

“I used to,” Sirius admits, licking his bottom lip. The movement makes the golden jewelry in his tongue shine under the sunlight. “Haven’t had a good ride in a while, though. Think you could help me with that?”

Charlie actually blushes. Harry has to do a double take at the sight of the burly man turning red as a cherry because of his godfather’s flirting. It’s fascinating.

Draco on his side, just feels mortified, he coughs loudly, grabbing the attention of the two older men. “Harry and I have to get ready for the celebration party in Slytherin. We’ll leave you to… whatever this is.”

Charlie at least has the decency to look a little ashamed. Sirius doesn’t. Harry snorts and they say their goodbyes, but as Draco drags him away, the sight of a tall man catches his eye. On the other side of the stadium, Remus Lupin looks at their little group with a clenched jaw.

Chapter Text

Harry and Hermione become popular after the first task. It’s not nearly as enjoyable as their friends wish it’d be. The Gryffindor girl gets more than five marriage proposals in the mail that she only opens while wearing dragonhide gloves after Draco casually says that a drop of blood in a magical contract usually counts as a signature. Harry just burns letters from anyone he doesn’t recognize without opening them, but unfortunately that doesn't stop the girls in the school from giving him looks as if he would even consider the idea of abandoning Draco for them. He'd rather choke on his own blood.

The Slytherins are especially smug about the fact that their house is winning over Gryffindor, but Harry doesn't pay much attention to that. He's too busy spending extra time reassuring his jealous boyfriend that he has eyes for no one but him while Hermione takes refuge in her favorite table in the library. Nothing new there.

Besides that, the few days after the task are pretty uneventful. The articles in the Prophet about the tournament are pretty generic now that Rita Skeeter is gone, and most of his classes continue being pretty boring since he already knows the material. The most exciting thing to happen is the announcement of the Yule Ball.

Snape looks like he would rather die than be there when he tells the Slytherin about the event, and he makes sure they all know it, but unfortunately for everyone involved, he also has to stay and give them dancing lessons at the request of the headmaster.

When they're asked to pick a partner to practice, Harry doesn’t hesitate to go to Draco.

Without a word, he holds out a hand, palm up, and after Draco shyly puts his on top, Harry pulls him closer, giving himself the leading position. One hand carefully holding Draco's and the other on the small of the blond's back, just barely above the curve of his arse. The music hasn’t started yet, but Draco won’t meet his eyes. Instead, he keeps shifting his weight on his feet, looking over Harry’s shoulder, biting his bottom lip.

"Is everything okay?" Harry asks, ignoring Snape’s instructions in the background.

"I've never— I was only taught how to lead," Draco confesses.

Harry hums, a pleased smile on his face. "Then we'll learn together, won't we?"

Harry has never been the biggest fan of dancing, he’s actively avoided it in the past, in fact, but if there’s one thing he’ll never do is deny Draco Malfoy a dance. So really, he had no choice but to learn a thing or two about it so as to not embarrass himself in the act.

On the floor a magic guide shows the where to put their feet for the waltz, but neither of them does more than give it a cursory glance. Dancing is not that much about the steps, Harry’s come to realize, but more about the feeling and flows of their bodies. Draco, despite his previous claims, doesn’t trip or step on Harry's feet at any point, in fact, the only mistake he makes (if it can be called that,) is stumbling after Crabbe accidentally bumps into him while he’s trying to spin Pansy.

It doesn’t take them much to get the hang of it, and soon they’re drawing gazes as they waltz across the room, smiling softly at each other as Harry lifts, dips, and spins Draco at the beat of the music.

“I can’t wait to dance with you at the ball,” he tells Draco during a slow section of the song, while they simply rock in one place. “All those people are going to want a piece of you, but they won’t even get scraps, do you know why?”

Draco shakes his head airily.

“Because you’re mine,” Harry reminds him, joining their lips. Only a last second notice-me-not charm saves him from Snape’s wrath at his boldness, but Draco doesn’t question it when he returns the kiss, too used to Harry’s exhibitionistic tendencies.

When they separate, Draco's eyes are slightly glazed, and he has to clear his throat before speaking. “Is that your way of asking me to the Yule Ball?” he asks.

“Depends, is that a yes?”

Draco huffs. “You’re lucky I like you,” he reminds Harry.

“The luckiest,” he replies.

Not everyone is as quick as Harry in getting a date, and it shows in the frustrated faces of the male population of Hogwarts. He’s sitting with Ron and Neville, watching as Colin tries to ask the girl that he likes to the ball, a fourth year Ravenclaw girl called Lisa with dark hair and green eyes.

He speaks with her for a couple of moments, and he seems to be pretty successful, if the way he’s smiling after they separate is any indication. At Harry’s side, Ron sighs in defeat. He hasn’t entirely forgiven him for the comment about Draco, but his boyfriend doesn’t seem to care either way about “dumb weasels”, so Harry hasn’t tried to take revenge against him. Another strike, though, and Harry won’t hesitate to curse him bald until he begs for forgiveness at Draco’s feet, friendship with his future version of him or not.

No one gets to mess with his boyfriend.

Taking pity on the Weasley teen, Harry decides to meddle a bit. “You haven’t asked anyone yet?”

Ron blushes. “Ah, not really,” he admits.

“Why not? Isn’t there anyone you want to take?”

“No!” he's quick to deny, but then he seems to remember who he’s speaking to, and corrects himself ”I mean, maybe… ? I doubt she’d be interested, though. She’ll probably tell me to get lost.”

“Hermione wouldn’t do that,” Harry reassures him.

“How did you know I was talking about her?”

Harry raises an eyebrow.

“Right. Omnipotent-dark-lord-defeating powers and all that, I forgot.”

Harry snorts. “I just have eyes. You’re really not subtle, mate.”

Ron scoffs. ”As if you are.”

“I’ve never claimed to be,” Harry replies quickly. “I actually wish more people would get the bloody hint and leave me and Draco alone. Do you know how many blokes have tried asking him out?”

“I assume you’re going to tell me?”

“Two! That’s two people too many!” Harry scoffs. He would be angrier about it if Draco hadn’t refused their advances so viciously. “Bloody Durmstrang and their thick heads.”

Ron laughs at his antics, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a finger. “Do you really think I should ask her out?”

“Let me put it this way. If you don’t, someone else might get to her first,” Harry tells him, remembering the Viktor Krum issue all those years ago in his past life. “Aren’t you Gryffindors all about courage? Go for it, man.”

Ron swallows hard. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, standing up. “I’m going to look for her. I'll tell you how it goes later.”

On his other side, Neville looks up from the essay he’s working on, looking at Harry with a small frown instead. “That was a little mean, Harry.”

“Wait, what?” he asks, confused.

“Setting Ron up like that. It was cruel,” Neville explains. “I know you were angry at him before the first task, but still.”

“Nev, I have no idea what you’re talking about. He likes Hermione, doesn't he?”

Neville sighs. “Of course he does, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”

“Are you sure that Hermione will agree to go with him to the ball?”

“I mean, unless someone else asks her first, but it’s still early, I think.” Viktor hadn’t asked yet by this time in their past life, and even if he has, but Hermione remembers at least a bit of her relationship with Ron, she won’t go on a date with him.

Neville gives him a skeptical look, shaking his head slightly. "Whatever you say, Harry.”

He’s left sitting alone when Neville grabs his bags and leaves for his next class.  It’ll work out , Harry tells himself. He’s sure of it.

When the night of the ball finally comes, Draco is the first to go get ready. He leaves Harry's side early in the day to take a long bath and make his girl friends help him with his hair while Harry stays out and puts the last touches on his Christmas present.

He only comes back to his bedroom when the sky starts to turn orange, but even then he walks into an empty room. No sign of Draco except for his clothes thrown carelessly on the floor. Harry smiles at the carelessness of his spoiled boyfriend.

He washes and dresses himself, even bringing out a bottle of extra strength sleekeazy to style his hair, and when he comes out of the bathroom, he almost trips over at the sight that meets him.

Draco's entire outfit is made of a rich black velvet material that Harry really wants to run his hands through as soon as Draco gets within touching distance. There's some silver details in the vest and the trim of the outer robes that match Draco's accessories for the night, a pair of earrings and a silver necktie brooch shaped like a flower. A narcissus, like his mother.

Harry's inner clothes are similar in their cut, but where Draco's are uniformly back, Harry's are a dark emerald green that make his dark skin and eyes pop.

The shirt he wears underneath is white and has a sharp collar that reminds Harry of a vampire's fangs. Deathly, just like himself. It also has some frills on the front that somehow manage to not look absolutely ridiculous. Draco walks towards him slowly and puts his hands over them.

"Just trying to flatten them down," he mumbles when Harry raises an eyebrow at him, but the flush of his cheeks gives him away.

Harry doesn't care if it's only an excuse to grope his chest. He doesn't complain, Draco can grope him as much as he wants, as long as Harry can do the same in return, of course. He uses one hand to carefully touch Draco’s hair. Half of it is up while the rest falls down like a blond waterfall. Harry knows he got some product to lengthen it, but the final result is simply breathtaking.

His waves are perfectly styled, and two braids come from either side of his head to connect at the back with a butterfly clip Harry got him for Christmas last year. The clip flutters its wings every time Draco moves. It, combined with his black clothes give him the appearance of a dark fae prince.

Draco seems to appreciate his touch, sighing softly when Harry presses their bodies together for a small, chaste, kiss.

This close together, he can really see the similarities of their vests. Harry's is the same color as his outer robes with golden details where Draco's are silver. He's not wearing many accessories, just a golden ring with the Potter family crest engraved that Sirius got him as an early Christmas present and a pair of golden studs in his ears to match.

The full body mirror in the room whistles as soon as the two of them stand side to side in front of it, and Harry can't really blame his reflection. They look bloody brilliant together, in his humble opinion.

"Are we ready?" Draco asks as soon as they step away from it.

Harry grins at him. "Just one more thing," he tells his boyfriend, pulling out a small box from the pocket of his trousers.

Draco smiles as Harry hands it to him, gasping as he sees Harry's second courting gift, almost half a year after the first one. It's a locket, shaped like a heart and made of rose gold. Inside there's a muggle picture of the two of them together, taken just a few months ago with Colin Creevy's camera.

"H.J.P?" He asks with a slightly amused tone as he examines the inscription.

"For Harry James Potter," he replies sheepishly. "It's for protection,” amongst other things , he doesn't say. “So you know I'll always be there to shield you from harm."

The blond shivers as he grazes the metal with his fingertips, the protection charms locking on his magic signature. "Charmed?" he asks.

Harry nods. "I did the spells myself."

He doesn't tell him that he'd layered so many of them that a true seer would only see the locket as a small star of magic hanging from a chain, that Harry wants to cover his entire body with many more stars like it, until he becomes a constellation himself like his eponym in the night sky.

Draco gives him the box back, turning around and moving his hair out of the way to expose his neck. "Put it on for me?" he asks coquettishly.

"It doesn't match your outfit," Harry tells him, but he's already moving.

"I don't care," Draco replies.

Harry smiles eagerly. He locks the necklace around Draco's long neck, the clasp disappearing as he does, he even sneaks in a chaste kiss behind his ear, making Draco shudder.

"Harry..." he whines.

"Yeah?" Harry asks, dropping another kiss on his lover's neck.

"We need to get going," Draco practically moans when Harry firmly grabs his hips, but does nothing to actually stop him.

Harry smiles at that. "In a minute," he says before turning him around to give him a proper kiss, one that is slower than the last, deeper, more intense. Draco looks wrecked by the time they pull away, and Harry makes a decision right there and then.

"They'll have to wait for us," he tells Draco, before diving into his mouth again.

They get to the Ball five minutes late, and McGonagall chastises them heavily for it, but as Harry looks covertly at Draco's blushed face, he finds that he doesn't really care.

The first thing on the agenda for the ball is dinner, so Harry escorts Draco to the champions’ table, pulling his chair before taking his own seat.

He doesn’t apologize for being late, simply striking a conversation with Viktor and Hermione, who are sitting next to them. He tries to look around the table casually, but Ron is nowhere to be seen.

Maybe he got to Hermione too late, after all, Harry reassures himself. He’s not looking forward to that tantrum.

After that, it's time for the champions to open the ball with a dance. And it would be as awkward as Harry remembers it being all those years ago if it weren't for Draco's adoring look as Harry leads him through the steps of the song. 

He can feel the gazes on them as they spin in the center of the room, students looking at them with envy, admiration, and jealousy. Harry pays them no mind, it's par of the course when one is dating the most gorgeous person in a room, and Draco fits that description effortlessly. He's growing beautifully, turning into the man Harry loves and worships with every passing day.

When the music stops, Harry actually finds himself frowning, no way time passed so fast, did it? 

"Another one?" he asks Draco. His intended looks at him amusedly, Harry already having made his distaste for dancing known.

“Whatever you want, darling,” Draco says charmingly.

“Mhmm? Those are dangerous words, you know? You have no idea of all I want to do to you."

Draco shivers under his touch, his voice shaky when he answers. "Then why don't you show me?"

They dance for a couple more songs before they stop for a break, Draco going to sit with their friends while Harry's in charge of getting drinks. He's filling two cups with punch when someone taps him on the shoulder.

"Care for a dance?" they ask.

Harry mentally rolls his eyes, ready to reject whoever it is. Seriously, did they miss the whole opening dance with his boyfriend or something? "Sorry, not interested—Wait… Tonks? What are you doing here?"

The metamorphmagus smiles at his confusion, taking the opportunity to pull him to the dance floor while Harry sends off the drinks to Draco's table with a wave of his hand. "Remus is chaperoning, and he asked me to be his plus one," she admits, shifting her shape so she can be taller than Harry, giving herself the leading position.

Their dancing is not as graceful as it was when it was Harry and Draco, neither of them putting much effort into it.

"So…are you two still a thing, then?"

She grins from ear to ear. "That's what it looks like. I mean, we haven't defined the relationship or anything, but if he's inviting me to meet his co-workers it has to mean something, don't you think?"

Harry simply nods, trying his best not to stumble as they dance. "Has he said anything about your age difference? I mean, he's kind of a stick in the mud about that sort of thing."

Tonks snorts. "At first he did, yeah, but this last month he hasn't brought it up even once! I finally wore him down," she finishes with a smile.

Harry tries not to think about the look he gave Sirius and Charlie after the first task nearly a month ago. "Where is he, anyway? I haven't seen him around."

"He's doing a round outside right now," she tells him, almost tripping him down. "Told me to wait for him here for a bit. I hate the cold."

"Oh, I wanted to talk to him," Harry lies, biting his bottom lip.

"Don't let me stop you, I see my favorite blond cousin over there, I'm going to say hi," she says with a grin, moving away. "See you!"

Harry smiles and waves her away. He appreciates the excuse to go outside for a moment, he's lost sight of a few people he has some plans for.

Harry follows the pull of a nearby runestone, his own magical signature acting as a beacon for the wizard. He’d enchanted it to look unassuming and to always return to the Bulgarian headmaster’s pocket, regardless of if he changes clothing, and he’s happy to see that it’s still working. He needs to know his position at all times if his plan is to be put in motion.

He finds him in a secluded corner speaking with Snape in harsh whispers. Harry’s footsteps are silent as he slowly moves closer to the two men, and in the height of the Bulgarian Headmaster's desperation, when he’s showing off his dark mark to Snape, Harry activates it.

The effect is immediate. Karkaroff passes out and falls limply to the floor while Snape can only look with terrified eyes, both at him and at his own arm. Harry smiles smugly, everything is working as intended.

He doesn’t stay to watch him cast a rennervate on his fellow Death Eater, the damage is already done. Harry can feel his own magic leaving the runestone and forcefully invading Karkaroff's body. The man will have some difficulty casting spells for a while, but it doesn't matter in the long run. He's marked for death either way.

Harry keeps walking happily, breathing in the cold air of December, when he sees yet another figure standing alone under the falling snow, one hand on a cigarette while an owl flies away from him.

A cloud of smoke abandons his mouth as he lets out a sad breath, and Harry lets out his own resigned sigh before making his presence known. “Hey there, Moony,” he says.

Remus jumps, startled by the sound of his voice. “Harry! What are you doing here? You should be inside,” he says, letting the cigarette fall before stomping it with his foot.

“Your girlfriend told me you were here,” Harry replies. “She’s a terrible dancer, by the way.”

“She’s not—my girlfriend, I mean. I’ve never danced with her. I wouldn’t know if she’s good at it.”

Harry frowns. “So… what are you doing out here?”

He notices how Remus tenses, pointedly looking away from the flying figure.

“I…It’s nothing,” he says. “Don’t worry about it. Have you solved the clue for the second task yet?” he asks, changing the subject.

Harry nods, his bright green eyes meeting Remus’ own.

“Draco solved it. He has this book on magic creatures and their languages and realized it was probably mermish.” The fact that he’d gifted that book to Draco a few weeks beforehand had seemed like just a coincidence to his boyfriend.

Remus doesn’t speak for a while.

“That’s… good,” he says, frowning slightly, his golden eyes shining oddly under the fairy lights. He shakes his head as if confused, before speaking again. “We should get back inside.”

Harry nods, breaking eye contact, and stopping his legilimency attack.

Draco is waiting for him in the castle, and that letter won’t get to Sirius until at least morning.

He wonders what he’ll answer.

The rest of the night passes in a flash. In a show of admirable self control, Harry doesn't ravish Draco right on the dance floor, although they do get some points taken away from Slytherin when Harry gets a little too handsy.

He keeps telling himself to wait until it's just the two of them, until they have a proper bed and a door with a lock between them and the world, their first time will be for Harry's eyes only.

As soon as the door closes, Harry pushes Draco's back against it. His boyfriend moans as he's taken into a kiss, and Harry hums at the slight taste of firewhiskey in his sweet mouth.

He knows up in the common room the upper years are having themselves a proper after party for the ball, but Harry has better ideas on how to spend the night than getting drunk with a bunch of teenagers.

Draco whines when Harry's tongue forces its entry inside his mouth, his hands going to Harry's messy curls while the taller teen licks every inch of his mouth.

He has one hand braced on the door while the other presses on the small of Draco's back, slowly but surely inching his way inside his shirt, as complicated as that is with the many layers he's wearing. He avoids moving his hands below Draco's waist, exerting his willpower to ignore the temptation that is Draco's firm arse.

A part of him wants to believe that he's just letting Draco set the pace since he's technically the youngest, and least experienced one in their relationship, but in reality he just wants Draco to beg for his touch of his own accord, to become so desperate that he cries for a single touch of Harry's hand.

"Harry..." Draco pants, as if hearing his thoughts. "I want..."

"Hmm?" Harry asks, his hand finally connecting to the skin of Draco's back. He can feel it shivering under his touch, arching instinctively to meet his fingertips.

"Please..."

"Use your words, baby," Harry whispers in his ear, pressing their bodies together. Draco feels hot under his touch, like there's a fire inside of him. It warms Harry's cold heart, makes him want to swallow that flame, but he'll comfort himself with only taking Draco's earlobe in his mouth, slightly nipping it with his teeth.

"Touch me," Draco tries to demand, but his voice is more needy than anything, diminishing its authoritative tone.

Harry still obeys, ever the faithful servant to his perfect lover. He moves his hands so they're framing Draco's face, and peppers small kisses all over his jaw.

"Do you want me to touch you here?" the green eyed man asks, caressing his lover's face before moving down to his neck "Or here?"

Draco whines at his willful misinterpretation of his words, rocking his body until their fronts are rubbing together.

Harry pretends not to hear the complaint in his tone. He keeps asking the same question as his hands travel further down his body, groping his flat chest, running his fingernails over his clothed abdomen, wrapping his hands around his tiny waist, and finally, putting one leg between Draco's, his thigh connecting with the hardness beneath the blond's trousers.

"Harry," Draco gasps, clutching his shoulders with firmness.

"Where do you want me to touch you, Draco? Show me."

“Hnng,” Draco bites his bottom lip to avoid making a sound, and instead takes Harry’s arms and moves them even lower. Harry grins, victorious.

"Here?" Harry whispers into his ear when his hands finally reach his perky behind. He squeezes the two soft globes firmly, rocking forward so that he’s stimulating the blond Slytherin from the front as well as the back. It drags a meowl out Draco’s throat, a delicate sound that makes Harry's cock twitch.

“Yeah,” Draco replies. “More.”

Harry indulges him easily, massaging his arse while his mouth is busy kissing his jaw. Draco’s arse is so plush and soft to the touch, something that is hidden under the school robes. It brings Harry joy knowing that his hands are the only ones allowed to touch it.

“So soft,” he tells Draco, slipping one finger in the crease of his bum, over his clothes. He uses the pad of his finger to pat his virgin entrance, making his boyfriend gasp at the act. “So good for me.”

Draco keens at the praise, just like Harry knew he would, and he shifts his bodies so they’re even closer, their shafts meeting in the new position.

Draco gulps “Is that…?”

Harry hums. “Told you I was big,” he reminds Draco, rocking against him.

“Unngh.”

“Are you imagining what it looks like?” Harry asks, his voice rough as he continues the movement of his hips, the friction dragging a groan from his mouth, “Imagining how it will feel in your hands? How it’ll taste in your mouth? How much it’ll weigh on your tongue?” A kiss on his neck, one of his fingers slipping inside his pants, a fingertip just barely touching Draco’s hole, “Imagining how much it’ll stretch this when I make love to you for the first time?”

“Please, please, please,” Draco begs, shaking in his hold.

Harry decides to take mercy on him, and with a swift hand, he undoes the front buttons of their trousers, bringing their erections out in the air. He lines both shafts up and casts a lubrication charm on his palm, wrapping his hand around them. The hot flesh makes squelching sounds as Harry begins jerking them off slowly, making sure to pay special attention to Draco’s eager prick.

He’s so pink in Harry’s hand, so small compared to his own that it's practically hidden when Harry puts his hand around both members. He wants to comment on it, to tell Draco how pretty all over he is, with his pink cheeks and his tiny little prick, but he can save that for later, when Draco is more comfortable with his sexuality and realizes that humiliation is a turn on for him. Harry will be patient, he’ll show Draco all the different facets of himself Harry knows are buried deep inside him.

He doesn’t stop the movement of his hand once, and soon it becomes too much for Draco. His boyfriend thrashes in his hold when he reaches orgasm, shooting ropes of cum that will for sure stain the fabric of their trousers white unless they remember to clean them up.

“Aahh!” he cries out, his head falling back until it hits the door behind him.

“Bear it a bit," Harry grunts, not stopping his movement as he nears orgasm himself. Draco whines as his spent prick continues being mercilessly jerked against Harry's own, the cum that drips from it being used as lubrication.

In between moans, he  moves his hands to the back of Harry’s neck, and drags him into a kiss. The older man returns the kiss fiercely, unafraid to get his tongue all over Draco’s mouth. It doesn’t take much after that for him to reach completion, his orgasm hitting him like a truck at full speed. He spills hard, surreptitiously aiming to get all his cum over Draco’s figure, claiming him like a wild animal with his mate. 

Draco doesn’t complain, he simply whines when the hot and sticky substance hits him, ruining his shirt.

It takes them a few moments to get their breathing back to normal, and then Draco slumps down, dropping his forehead on Harry’s shoulders. “That was..” he trails off, still breathless, his voice shaky.

“You liked it?” Harry asks.

Draco nods, still unable to form full sentences.

The taller teen just smiles. “Good, because we’re just getting started. You have no idea of all the things I want to do to you.”

In his arms, Draco shivers, content, satisfied, loved. 

Chapter Text

The second task happens without much fanfare. Harry rescues Draco from the bottom of the lake and the kiss he gives him in return gets them to the front page of the daily prophet. Hermione brews a potion to breathe underwater to rescue Ron; Viktor partially transfigures himself into a shark to get one of his classmates, and Fleur uses a bubble-head charm and a secret admirer's warning about grindylows to save her little sister.

There's not much else to mention about it.

Sirius comes to watch the task alone, although there isn't much watching to be done when the champions spend the majority of the time underwater. "We couldn't see anything, pup, it was nerve-wracking," he tells Harry, once they get a moment alone.

After that is done they spend the day together. His guardian doesn't mention Charlie Weasley while they chat, but Harry isn't surprised by that. After all, he never actually told Harry about him and Remus. What Harry does notice is the hickies on his neck that his jumper can't fully cover, and the relaxed aura he has around him.

On the other side of that particular coin, Tonks sometimes visits the castle under the guise of checking on her ex-auror mentor, but when Harry checks the Marauders' Map, she's usually with Remus. Never in his room, though. Harry wonders if that means they're not being intimate or if it means they're finding other places to be so.

Some unwinding would do Remus well, in his opinion.

He and Harry sometimes speak when they pass each other in the hallways, but there's more distance between them than before. Harry doesn't know how Sirius answered the letter Remus sent him the night of the Yule Ball, but it doesn't seem like they're getting back together anytime soon, especially when they each have a young partner to keep them busy.

Speaking of busy, Harry doesn’t see much of Ron or Hermione after the Yule Ball and the Second Task respectively. He only learns that the former skipped the ball entirely a few days after the fact. Apparently, Hermione’s rejection hit him badly. 

It doesn't help that the teen was not happy about having to be rescued from the lake by a girl, or that Hermione didn't give him a chance to complain before she left his side to join Viktor and his hostage.

Harry tries not to ask her about it, but he's not entirely successful in his task, his nosy nature coming through in the middle of one of their conversations.

"I told Viktor that I'd only agree to go with him if he learned to pronounce my name properly," she says. "I didn't see him for a few days after that, but then he came back and just said 'Hermione, would you do me the honor of going to the ball with me?' and I couldn't say no. I remember dancing with him in my dreams, but I didn't know he could be so charming when he spoke bulgarian."

That made Harry raise an eyebrow. "You speak bulgarian?"

Hermione blushes. "I've had dreams where I could, so I've been studying it in my free time."

Harry nods, and that's the end of their conversation. He doesn't mention Ron or their past relationships, maybe her memories of that haven't come back yet, she did say that they're jumbled in her mind. They'll have time to work on that.

She and Viktor have been spending a lot of time together lately. It's not uncommon to see one student next to the other, their heads joined together and their voices hushed or under silencing wards. Harry doesn't approach them when they're like that. The Gryffindor girl decided that she and Harry should train separately for the last task, and Harry knows if he butts in she will just come up with something else instead of telling him whatever she's planning to do.

Or at least that's what he would do. When they’re not together, Harry finds her on the map, hidden in Myrtle’s bathroom. She’s definitely brewing something in there, but Harry has no idea what it could be. The only ingredients missing from Snape’s cupboard are the ones required for Fake-Moody’s polyjuice, and the one time he tries to enter the bathroom he’s confronted with wards that haven’t been invented yet, wards that the other Hermione came up with with the help of his Draco. Breaking them would give his game away, so he simply huffs and turns the other way around.

When the maze is revealed to the champions and Crouch Sr. appears in front of him from the Forbidden Forest, Harry knocks him out without a second thought. When he's sure there are no witnesses around, he makes him swallow a canary cream candy prototype and stuff the little bird into his pocket, ready to join his two guests in his trunk.

He doesn't need Barty Jr.'s cover to get blown right now, and his mind magic skills could use more training now that his other prisoners are starting to lose their marbles from getting their brains scrambled so often.

Harry is so close to perfecting the ability, he can almost taste victory in the tip of his tongue.

Like that, the period of time until the third task is almost calm. Well, as calm as things can be in Hogwarts. Draco does get into a few verbal spats with some over confident Beauxbatons girls that try to get Harry to show them around Hogsmeade, and the Weasley twins are being—well, they're being the twins. Enough said.

The months pass, and the day of the third task arrives. In the stands for the champions’ family sit Draco, Sirius, Remus, the Tonks, the Weasleys, and Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius is nowhere to be seen, which makes Harry wonder if he knows what’s about to happen today.

Still, just that group is chaotic enough by itself, the face when Sirius and Remus realize that Charlie and Tonks are the same age— are friends, even — is one that he’ll treasure forever.

He and Hermione are waiting in the champions’ tent to be called, the girl nervously eyeing a cupcake in her hands, biting her bottom lip as she thinks intensely.

After a moment of silence, she offers it to him. “Hungry?” she asks.

“Sure,” Harry replies, taking the offered treat. He’s not really hungry, but he’s curious as to what it is that she put in it. His magic sense tells him it’s a potion, but that much was already obvious to him. Good or bad, that is the question. “Half and half? I don’t think I’ll be able to keep an entire one down.”

She agrees, which puts it on the safer side, and if he waits until she takes a single bite before following suit, well, one can never be too cautious.

His gamble seems to pay off, because suddenly he starts to feel like all of his worries are gone and nothing can go wrong.

Felix Felicis , he realizes. Oh, Hermione. Naughty girl, cheating in the tournament? Who would have thought? He has no time to voice those thoughts, though, because right then he’s called to enter the maze. The first one, at that, his score being the highest of the champions’.

He walks briskly inside, trusting in Hermione’s brewing capabilities, but he makes no move towards the center of the maze, instead following an echo of his own magic. He makes no sound as he moves, his footsteps muted by the runes in the soles of his boots and his figure obscured by his invisibility cloak. Like that, he manages to find Karkaroff standing on one edge of the maze, his wand ready to cast. 

Harry doesn't let it come to that. 

"Stupefy," he casts under his breath, catching the body as the headmaster loses consciousness.

Here's where the runestone he planted on the Bulgarian headmaster pays off. During the Yule Ball he watched as its magic attacked the Death Eater and forced itself into his body, knocking him out. It has had months to fester inside him, getting acquaintanced with the intricacies of Karkaroff's magic and changing it until it's nearly unrecognizable.

His magic signature has changed, Harry confirms, extending out his magic sense, an almost perfect mirror to his own, just what he'll need to pose as Harry in front of Voldemort himself.

All Harry has to do is cast a single spell.

He starts to undress the Death Eater, pulling out a copy of his own champion robes from his pocket. He puts them on the knocked out body, and then trades wands with him.

“ Rennervate, ” he casts, forcing his will into the foreign wand.

Karkaroff sits up startled, and his eyes don’t even manage to finish focusing on him when Harry casts the second spell with the stolen wand. “ Imperio.” 

His face goes slack immediately, and Harry smiles at the sight. 

“You are going to go to the center of the maze as fast as you can, and you’re going to grab the cup. Alone . Pretend to be me to the best of your abilities, don’t cast any dark magic with my wand,” he tells his puppet. “Even if you’re crucio’d, even if someone else tries to imperius you, you’ll pretend to be Harry Potter to your last breath. Do you understand?”

Karkaroff nods, and Harry brings out a blood red vial, forcing it down his throat. “Drink.”

The polycuice’s effect is fast, and the man changes until his face is an exact replica of Harry’s. The original Potter turns into a bird and hides himself inside his double’s clothes, letting him face the brunt of the maze.

“Go,” he thinks at him, and soon they’re moving through the maze at a fast speed.

Harry doesn’t have the best view of the task, but Karkaroff is efficient and ruthless as he passes the obstacles, he favors using bombarda on most obstacles, be them living or not, but luckily, Harry doesn’t get hit with any debris or creature bits. He vaguely hears when the rest of the champions are called into the maze, but they don’t meet with any of them as they make their way to the center of the maze.

He only knows Karkaroff succeeds when he feels the familiar tug of a portkey taking them miles and miles away, to a small graveyard in Little Hangleton.

Behind them, Wormtail casts a stupefy at Fake-Harry, and Real-Harry takes the opportunity to fly in his animagus form. Wormtail either doesn't see him or doesn't think much of Harry Potter carrying a raven around.

It's not like he's shown off his animagus form multiple times in front of the whole school or anything.

Idiot.

He perches himself in a tree nearby and watches patiently as Wormtail begins the ritual.

Bone of the father, flesh of the servant, blood of the enemy.

Harry doesn't blink as Voldemort resurfaces from the bubbling cauldron, already expecting this outcome.

Karkaroff may not be the real Harry, but after the polyjuice, he carries his blood in his veins. The ritual sees no difference between the two. 

Voldemort monologues, and with Harry's instructions repeating on a loop in the back of his mind, Karkaroff makes a good Harry Potter impression as the rest of the Death Eaters are summoned.

They form a circle around their master and the teen, and when the spells start flying, Harry only regrets that ravens have no lips to smile.

He can't hear the words they're saying from so far away, but when the green light of the killing curse hits Fake-Harry, and his double's body returns to its original state, Harry does get some satisfaction out of seeing Voldemort's confused and furious face.

The dark lord lets out a piercing scream as his body changes, too. His face becomes even less human as the blood of his enemy becomes something lesser, something less powerful.

He has to simply stand there as all his Death Eaters witness him truly becoming a monster.

That is when Harry activates the rune circle around the graveyard.

Pillars of light emerge around the Death Eaters in a perfect circle as all the runestones Harry carefully crafted over the summer begin to take effect. The marked men and women drop like flies as Harry's magic overwhelms their senses and primes them for the next step of Harry's plan, knocking them out cold. Not even Voldemort, in his new monstrous form is left unaffected. He doesn't quite pass out, but he still falls to his knees. 

Harry flies towards him once the lights around the graveyard turn off, swiftly taking his wand from Karkaroff's body before landing in front of Voldemort.

"Potter. You'll pay for this," the monster in front of Harry promises.

Harry pays him no mind, grabbing him by the ear to look behind his neck. Harry snorts as he sees his own mark etched on his white skin, invisible to anyone but him.

"This must be a really embarrassing moment for you," Harry muses out loud, meeting his red, snake-like eyes. "I'm sure you won't want to remember this, so why don't you let me help you with that, yes? Legilimens ."

Months of training all pay off as Harry weaves through the Dark Lord's memories, erasing them and modifying them as he pleases. The dark lord shields are formidable, filled with traps and fake memories that Harry somehow manages to avoid. His mark on Voldemort's body eases the effort, accepting the intrusion that is Harry's magic in his body and magic.

Harry makes him think that the ritual went according to plan, that his monstrous appearance is just an unfortunate side effect that he'll have to live with, and that after their duel, Harry managed to escape by sheer luck, leaving behind only an explosion that knocked all his followers out cold, leaving him dazed for just a couple of seconds.

Basically, he gives Voldemort his own original version of events, with some minor adjustments.

The mental strain makes Voldemort finally pass out, and Harry kicks him lightly to confirm that he's out cold before moving on to the rest of the Death Eaters.

He doesn't get close to Nagini, though. He's lucky she passed out at all, her physiology so different from that of humans. A cooling charm around the reptile helps in keeping her asleep as Harry invades the mind of minion after minion. There are not many of them, Harry's efforts in reducing their numbers over the years having paid off, but by the time he gets to the last one, he's starting to tire.

He feels the exact moment the luck potion wears out, the nice sensation in his body vanishes as he sees a form twitch in the corner of his eye. 

Lucius Malfoy wakes up as he puts the final touches in Wormtail’s modified memories, and Harry barely has time to avoid getting hit by an entrail-expelling curse courtesy of his father-in-law.

“Potter!” he curses, holding his head in clear pain.

“Lucius,” Harry greets him calmly, only his fast heartbeat betraying his nerves. “You should put that down, we wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.”

His words fall on deaf ears, and he jumps to the side as yet another curse misses his body by mere inches.

Harry resists letting out a groan. This is the last thing he wants. Any other Death Eater wakes up and his work for the last few hours has been for nothing. He needs to knock Lucius out and wipe him out again.

"Stupefy!" He casts, missing Lucius, but also avoiding one of his spells.

All the exertion on his magic is starting to take its toll on him. As they exchange spells he can barely avoid getting hit by Lucius' curses, and his aim is worse than he would like it to be. 

He's managing, he thinks, at least until he tries to avoid a cutting hex and ends up tripping on Wormtail's body.

Oh fuck, he thinks as he falls down, firing out the first spell that comes to mind as a familiar green light flies straight towards him.

Both spells hit their targets, but when the two bodies hit the floor, no one is awake to hear the twinning ‘thuds.’

Harry doesn't wake up, because he's not asleep.

He's dead.

The white walls of limbo greet him as he finishes processing what just happened.

"I didn't expect to see you so soon," a voice says from behind him, but when Harry turns around, he's alone.

King's Crossing turns into Grimmauld Place as Harry blinks.

"Where are you?" he asks, but no one answers.

Another blink, he's in his and Draco's room. The one they shared for years until his beloved husband…

"Died?" the voice asks, not unkindly.

"He's not dead yet," Harry replies, still not knowing just who it is he's speaking to.

He's in a graveyard. Draco's tomb is right in front of him, but he refuses to look at it.

"Everyone dies," the voice says calmly. "Well, almost everyone."

"What do you mean?" Harry asks, from his ritual basement.

"You'll learn," the voice assures him. "It's almost time."

Harry doesn't have time to ask what that means, because the circle under him lights up, and Harry's blood boils.

Lucius Malfoy's body bleeds out while Harry stares into nothingness, tendrils of black magic covering his eyes like a blindfold made of black lightning.

When his vision returns to him, Harry winces as he watches the corpse of Draco's father.

"Well, that wasn't meant to happen," he mutters, rubbing his chest.

He doesn't know why the killing curse didn't affect him, but he's nothing if not grateful. Even if it completely trashes his plans for the future. Harry lets out a groan. Without this man, how is Harry going to trap the Death Eaters in Malfoy Manor? Who is going to bribe the guards in Azkaban to help free the incarcerated Death Eaters? What is Narcissa going to do if she even for a second suspects him of killing her husband? What is Draco going to think?

He stands up, not bothering to clean off the dirt on his clothes as he kneels to check on the body in front of him. It's still recognizable as Lucius, but Harry's sectumsempra hit him in the face and neck, leaving him to lose blood without being able to speak a spell to heal himself. It's not a pretty sight.

Healing magic doesn't do much for non living beings, so Harry doesn't bother trying to fix him. He looks around him, thankful when he notices no one else has woken up yet. His mind feels dazed as he gives himself small injuries all over his body, trying to keep up the appearance of a regular teen who got caught up in something so much bigger than himself.

He looks down at his wand, the one made of holly and a phoenix feather. One priori incantatem and Harry will be a known murderer. With a heavy heart, he slowly bends the wood until it breaks right in the middle.

He can hear a faint cry in the back of his mind.

The wand is held together by the somehow still intact feather inside, and Harry makes a mental note to extract it some day in the future.

He drags Lucius' body all the way to the Triwizard cup, and after hesitating for a second, he casts a wandless bombarda right in the middle of the graveyard, before touching the portkey and being transported back to Hogwarts.

Time to put on a show.

Harry lands harshly on the floor, putting a horrified expression on his face as he calls out for anyone to come.

He's surrounded quickly, his hands clutching tightly onto the lifeless body, calling for Draco, Sirius, anyone , to help.

Dumbledore comes to him, and Harry purposefully meets his eyes when he whispers "he's back."

Dumbledore looks almost excited as Harry lets him glimpse at his memories from his first life, the ritual that gave Voldemort a body, the duel between the two of them, and the priori incantatem, but then he looks away, making a sick face, like he's about to puke.

He can faintly hear the crowd around him asking question, what happened? is that a body? Merlin, that smell, but he pays it no mind, trying instead to find Draco's face in the crowd.

His boyfriend looks at him holding his father's body from the stands, a horrified expression on his face as Narcissa keeps a hand tightly wrapped around his arm.

Harry has no idea how to handle that. Their eyes only meet for a second before Harry is dragged away by Barty Jr. to the room he repurposed at the beginning of the school year as a security headquarters. His expanded suitcase is in the corner of the room, and Harry knows the real Moody is waiting right there to be freed.

Too bad it won't happen.

He doesn't need an expert auror that is too loyal to Albus Dumbledore walking around with a magic eye that can see through every one of Harry's fronts. 

It'll be a loss for the Order of the Phoenix, but honestly, what did they even do last time around? By Harry's calculations Voldemort will be gone before he can take over the ministry, and no one he cares about is meant to die before then. The world will have to do without Alastor Moody.

He lets Barty Jr. monologue while he spreads his magic out in the room. He goes slowly, not wanting to alert him, but the madman is too busy raving about his lord's return to notice the room is getting warmer.

When he turns his wand to Harry, the time traveler summons all the strength he has left and ignites all the air in the room. He lets the flames softly lick over his body, his magic unwilling to hurt him, but Barty Jr. is not so lucky. His screams attract the attention of the professors, and by the time Harry runs out of power, Dumbledore and Sirius walk into the room to the sight of Harry on the floor surrounded by nothing but ashes.

"Harry!" Sirius calls out, and just when he feels his arms wrapping around his frame, Harry lets himself fall unconscious. 

He wakes up in the hospital wing. Padfoot lying on his feet while Draco sits on the chair next to the bed, his hand holding Harry's own.

The sun isn't shining outside the window yet, and Harry softly casts out a tempus , realizing it's almost dawn. His stirring doesn't wake either of the men up, but standing right at the door, Remus freezes when he sees him recover consciousness.

"Hey," he says softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like my brain was set on fire," Harry admits. "What happened? Where is Moody?"

Remus winces. "You don't remember?" he asks.

Harry shakes his head. "He… he wasn't really Moody," he mutters. "He attacked me, I think."

He nods. "We found the body of the Real Alastor Moody after the magic of the trunk stopped being able to sustain itself," Remus explains, "and the aurors identified the impostor as Bartermius Crouch Junior, even though he was supposed to be dead."

"He told me that his father helped him escape from Azkaban, kept him in his own house under the imperius curse for years."

Remus grimaces. "You should probably get some rest, Harry."

"I'm not tired," he replies. "I slept for over 12 hours. I'm fine."

"Actually, it's been over 36 hours now."

"What?" Harry asks, sitting up. The action leaves him lightheaded, apparently not fully recovered from his magic exhaustion. Thankfully he doesn't wake either of the men resting on him.

"The final task was two days ago. Poppy said you wouldn't wake up for at least a week."

Harry just blinks at the news, looking at Draco and Sirius, and then at Remus.

"Yeah, neither of them have left your side. I was here to deliver a change of clothes for them, actually."

"Oh, I thought Draco would be with Narcissa… After his dad…"

Remus bites his lip. "What… happened there?"

The green eyed man looks down, thinking of how to spin the story.

"I… There was a ritual to resurrect Voldemort. Wormtail used bone, flesh, and blood to bring him back, and then they called all the Death Eaters. He killed Karkaroof, and he was angry about the fact that the Malfoy heir was dating me, so he tried to give Lucius a chance to prove his loyalty," Harry lies, looking outside the window. "He cast a spell at me, sectum—something, I think. I managed to block it, but it bounced on him. I… I killed him."

Neither of them speak for a moment, at least until Harry feels Draco stirring in his chair.

"I'm sorry," the blond teen says, his eyes rimmed red as he stands up and leaves the room hastily.

Harry is unable to leave, his legs too weak to move with Padfoot sitting on top of him, so he has to watch as Draco runs away without being able to chase after him. He turns to Remus.

"Could you…"

"I'll check in on him," Remus reassures him.

"Thank you."

He doesn't know when he falls asleep again, but the next time he opens his eyes it's almost noon. He's feeling better, but Draco isn't in the room with him. He wants nothing more than to go after him and hold him in his arms, but he's stopped from doing so when Dumbledore comes into the hospital wing with Cornelius Fudge by his side.

Harry tells them his story, although the Minister denies it firmly, unwilling to believe in the resurrection of Voldemort. Harry can already see the future headlines discreeting him in the Daily Prophet.

Dumbledore asks a lot of questions, but thankfully Sirius is there to keep a lid on his curiosity and Harry has his story straight, the headmaster uses legilimency constantly to confirm his words. By the time he leaves Harry feels like puking from the constant onslaught on his mind.

His friends all visit him, Ron, Neville, and Collin, Pansy and Tracy, the other champions, but Draco doesn't come by. Harry doesn't have the marauders map on him, so he can't know his exact location, but from the surveillance charms in his locket, Harry can tell that he's fine, physically speaking.

The next time the door opens, he's almost hoping that it's Draco, despite knowing that he's on the other side of the castle. In reality, Hermione steps inside the room with an inscrutable expression on her face.

"Hey," Harry greets her lightheartedly. "How have you been?"

She doesn't indulge him in making small talk, instead going straight for the heart. “You did something, didn’t you,” Hermione asks.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, smiling.

“I had an entire plan for the third task,” Hermione admits. “I wanted to make sure that no one got hurt, but after we took Felix Felicis, Viktor turned on me and I realized that he'd been under the Imperius all day long. He tried to cast Crucio on me but I tripped and the spell missed, I ended up hitting my head, falling unconscious. When I woke up he was out cold on the floor next to me and you had disappeared with the cup."

She doesn't explain dosing him with the potion, sure that Harry will know what she's talking about, but he fails to see how the rest affects him. “What about it?”

“The luckiest thing that could have happened to me was not being involved in the task at all,” Hermione explains, looking at him with a frown. ”What did you do, Harry?”

“I won,” Harry answers, his wand arm twitching just a little.

The air in the room seems to be getting colder.

“You remember more than you say you do, don't you?” she asks.

He sighs, ready to lie. “Hermione—”

“Don't play dumb, Harry. We both know better than that. I've been operating this whole time under the impression that the time magic affected me more than it did you, but that's not right, is it?"

Harry doesn't answer.

"You got out of that graveyard practically intact, killing two marked Death Eaters in the process, accidentally or not. You've always been on top of things that you have no reason to be prepared for, Sirius being freed earlier than in my memories, you and Draco being friends from the beginning, knowing what the tasks would be from the beforehand, I bet it was you who made Rita Skeeter disappear, too," she finishes her rant slightly breathless.

“You’re making a lot of assumptions, Hermione,” Harry chuckles nervously.

“Am I? Because I haven’t heard you deny a single one of them. I know you lied about remembering only deaths, Harry James ."

"Don't call me that!" Harry snaps.

"Only your Draco can call you that, right? I remember that ," she says, a smug smile on her face.

Harry slumps into himself. “I— It wasn't entirely a lie,” he says, trying to defend himself.

Hermione doesn't buy it, shaking her head. “But it wasn't the entire truth, either. Somehow, you've always remembered."

Years of playing chess with Ron have taught him his lesson. Harry knows a losing game when he sees one. "It doesn't change anything."

Neither of them speaks for a long while. Sizing up the other, like it's the first time they're properly meeting.

"Why?" Hermione is the one who speaks.

"Huh?"

"Why didn't you say anything? I would've helped you if I knew," she sounds sad, almost disappointed.

Harry wants to tear his hair off. "I didn't have any reason to," he tells her. "Why involve children to fight battles adults should be fighting?"

Hermione looks down, not disagreeing, but also not accepting it.

"That's—You should tell Draco," she says, hardening her voice.

Harry shakes his head. "He doesn't need to worry about all that on top of his father."

"It's not fair that you're keeping a whole life secret from him, Harry."

"Like it wasn't fair when you tried to cheat the tournament by using Felix felicis?"

"That's different!"

"How so?" Harry raises an eyebrow sarcastically.

"There were lives on the line!"

"Draco's life is on the line! Do you think you were the only person that died!? I'm just doing what anyone would do! Think about Ron! You two love each other! He's the person you would miss the most, if anything happened to him, wouldn't you do anything to get that back!?"

"Not like this. That Ronald and that Hermione fell for each other after sharing many experiences together, they were on equal ground, but because of the time turner I'm older now, both physically and mentally," she says with a serious expression. "I loved that man, but the Ronald Weasley sitting in the Gryffindor common room right now is a boy, and I'm a woman."

Harry's face is impassive as he listens. "Does that mean that you don't approve of mine and Draco's courtship?"

"I can't tell you how to live your life, and telling you not to do something won't stop you from doing it," she answers politically, knowing that he won't budge. "All I ask is that you tell him... He's my friend too, Harry. Don't make him do more than he's prepared to."

Harry's jaw clenches at the memory of Draco passed out in the Chamber of Secrets.

"I... I don't want to hurt him. I can protect him," he answers.

"But who protects him from you?" she asks.

Harry doesn't flinch, if only because he expected something like this from her.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, looking down.

Hermione’s shoulders relax. “It’s okay, we can—”

“ Legilimens. ”

Harry's free from the hospital wing on the final day of school, and the first thing he does is look for his boyfriend.

On the seventh floor of the castle, Draco is sitting on the floor of the Room of Requirements, reading a letter that seems to have seen better days.

Harry sits besides him, just barely touching shoulders with the blond teen.

"Hey," he says softly, not wanting to spoil Draco away.

Draco doesn't answer immediately, and Harry doesn't push him. Slowly, he moves his hand until Draco's smaller one is enveloped in his own.

"It's my fault," Draco says, his voice rough.

"What is it?"

"My father… He died because of me. Mother is making arrangements for his funeral, and she asked me if I wanted to leave school early to attend, but I haven't been able to answer."

Harry tenses. "Do you… do you regret being with me?"

"No," Draco huffs. "That probably makes me a bad person, doesn't it?" he asks, looking at Harry with wet eyes.

"You're the best person I know, Draco. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I was the one dueling him," Harry tells him. "I know things between the two of you were rocky, but I still hate that I took him away from you."

"You were defending yourself. And father wouldn't have gone to him if I had tried to change his mind about the Dark Lord instead of running away from him every time I saw him."

"That's…Your father made his own choice, love. He's been in too deep since before you were even born," Harry tries to reassure him. "There's nothing wrong about you choosing to protect yourself after he hurt you."

Draco buries his face in Harry's shoulder, and he can feel the wetness from his tears permeating his robes.

"Can we talk about something else?" Draco asks.

Harry bites his lip, and wraps his arm around the smaller boy. "Did you know that Viktor asked Hermione to move in with him?"

Draco suddenly sits up, the astonishment in his face momentarily replacing his sad expression. "What!? What did she say to him? Is she leaving?"

Harry nods. "She's taking her N.E.W.T.s in Bulgaria and already has an apprenticeship with a Charms Master lined up."

"Why didn't she say anything?" Draco asks, sadness seeping into his voice yet again.

"You've been kind of hard to find lately, love," Harry reminds him.

"Oh. Right," he pouts.

"You want to go talk with her?"

Draco shakes his head, burying himself deeper into Harry's embrace. "Maybe later, want to stay with you. I missed you."

Harry smiles softly. "Me too. I never want to be away from you."

Draco sighs happily, and for that moment, everything is okay.

Chapter Text

The funeral of Lucius Malfoy takes place the day after the school year ends and Harry makes sure to stay by Draco's side during the whole affair.

The event is fuller than he'd expected it to be, although he supposes it makes sense. Lucius worked hard to make himself a central part of the wizarding world. He had dipped his hands in so many pies his influence was almost impossible to escape.

Ministry officials, foreign dignitaries, business owners and his other colleagues fill the building where the funeral is taking place.

Snape, of all people, gives the eulogy. The man looks right at home with his gloomy expression and his dark clothes, giving praise to the late Malfoy Lord for what amounts to a lot of nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Harry wonders if he has to mentally stop himself from taking points from a random house when someone accidentally sneezes in the middle of his speech.

He looks around the room as he speaks, like he does in his classes, and every time his and Harry's eyes meet, he can taste the disgust in the spy's gaze. Harry once wondered if there was anything he could have done to make Snape not hate him, if he could have been better, smarter, less annoying. It had been on those days right after the war ended, the memories Snape had left for him still fresh in his mind.

It took him a surprisingly long amount of time to realize that he was reverting to the way of thinking he had before he realized the Dursleys were never going to love him. 

It shouldn't have been up to Harry to earn a good, or even neutral treatment, to earn fairness, or decency.

Snape had chosen to take out a decades old grudge on an innocent child. He had chosen to perpetuate the cycle of abuse by terrorizing his students years after years. That hadn't been magically erased just because he'd been in love with Harry's mother.

In his eyes, it made it worse.

Severus Snape has his days counted, and although he feels for the kid that had been a victim of abuse and bullying, he won't blink twice when it's time to finally put down the man who willingly took the dark mark on his arm.

He wonders if anyone will show up to his funeral.

Draco seems to appreciate his professor's words, and when he steps down from the podium Harry makes sure to tighten his hold on his boyfriend's hand when he feels him starting to shake slightly.

Mrs. Malfoy gives their joined hands a charged look, but doesn't actually say anything about it. Harry wonders what's going through her mind.

She shouldn't have any reason to believe Lucius' death was anything but a consequence of his own actions, by now Harry has told the story of their fake duel so many times he's starting to get tired of it, but perhaps she doesn't believe it, or she does, but it still doesn't absolve Harry of consequences in her mind.

After all, this is the woman who looked at Harry straight in the face and told him that if it came to it she would stand besides her husband and against him, even if it was a losing battle.

Draco has no such reservations about him. The blond teen eagerly accepts the comfort Harry offers and doesn't seem to recriminate his actions in his father's demise, at least not consciously. He's been more detached lately, but that applies to his attitude with everyone around him, not just with Harry, so he lets him grieve in peace, never letting him forget that Harry will be there anytime he needs him.

He has a love/hate relationship with Draco's tears. On one hand, he hates the thought of Draco suffering, but on the other hand—

"Right there!" Draco moans, clenching around Harry's fingers inside him.

—Draco's tears of ecstasy have always been prettier than his tears of sadness.

In the weeks that follow, Harry learns that Draco is easy to distract from his grief with a casual touch, a heated kiss, a promise of more.

Right now they're both naked in Draco's bedroom in Malfoy Manor, a silencing charm covering the room while he has the blond spread out in his bed. Harry takes pleasure fingering him and covering his neck in purple bruises and bite marks.

He makes Draco see stars with only his fingers, makes him lose himself to the sensations that Harry provides until his face fills with pleasure.

"Harry! Yes!" He loves the way his name sounds in his beloved lips, the way his mouth moves to speak it.

Objectively speaking, it should not be an attractive sight. Draco's face turning a splotchy red, his eyes swollen, his mouth agape with just a hint of drool escaping the corner of his mouth. On any other person, Harry would avoid looking at it, but Draco somehow manages to turn that around and look even more alluring in his eyes.

Harry's fingers curl, pressing directly into Draco's sweet spot and making the teen arch his back, a gasp leaving his throat as he does so.

"You look so pretty," Harry tells him. Draco shivers at the praise, the words adding to his overall pleasure.

When he's like this he doesn't have to worry about his dead father, all that matters to him is Harry and all the new sensations his boyfriend gives them. Harry prefers it that way, Draco's attention belongs to him, so do his fears, his laughter, his moans, everything .

"Wait—I'm gonna—"

"Cum for me, love. Let go," Harry whispers in his ear. It's all it takes for Draco to spill all over himself, coating his stomach with ropes of white, before his eyes slowly flutter shut, his body fully relaxed and rid of tension.

Harry smiles. "Do orgasms count as courting gifts?" he wonders out loud.

Draco snorts with his eyes closed. "They should," he says, turning around so that his back is pressed against Harry's chest. "Are you staying the night?"

"Mhmm," Harry confirms. "Sirius said he wasn't coming back home tonight, so I don't have to go back."

"Good. You can't move. I'm too comfortable like this."

Harry smiles. He had no plans to leave his side.

With a wave of his hand he cleans both of them up, and like that, the both of them fall into a deep sleep.

Harry does not enjoy dreaming these days, more often than not his subconscious regals him with images of death or inexplicable sights, memories of his past life twisted until they're not recognizable anymore.

He remembers pain, and a deep voice speaking words he doesn't understand, only to wake up and forget most of his dreams anyway. If it weren't for his occlumency skills, he imagines he would not remember them at all, but as it is, he doesn't know if that's a bad thing or not.

He's the first to get up in the morning, his internal clock making him wake him up with the sun, a remnant of the times when he had to make breakfast for his ungrateful relatives before they woke up lest they punish him for not doing his chores.

Harry kisses the top of Draco's head and puts the pillow he used in his arms, smiling when a sleeping Draco hugs it tightly and buries his face in it, clearly attracted by Harry's scent in it.

On the bedside table sit two unopened letter, delivered in the middle of the night. When Harry checks them over, he notices that both of them have been sent by the same person.

Harry carelessly opens his own, his expression hardening when he sees the sender's name.

Dear Harry , Hermione writes.

I'm sorry again for having left you behind on Hogwarts.

I know we wanted to figure out if our dreams of the future were more than simple dreams, but it's been getting harder to distinguish reality from imagination, and staying in England—in Hogwarts—only makes it all worse.

I've been getting these awful headaches whenever the memories mix, and I'm afraid if I stay it'll be too much for my brain, and that thought terrifies me. Hopefully Bulgaria can be a clean slate, Viktor's home is lovely. I have my own office where I can practice charms and his family library is the thing of dreams (no pun intended.)

Regardless of my doubts, there's always the possibility that there's a sliver of truth in my dreams, so I couldn't leave without saying this. There's a possibility that things will get dark soon. If you ever need help I'll do my best to offer mine.

I have faith you'll do the right thing. Please, tell Draco, Pansy, and Ron that I'll miss them.

—All my love, Hermione Granger

Harry sighs when he reaches the end. Even in a completely different country and with her mind scrambled, trust in Hermione to offer her help like that. He'd call it admirable, if it wasn't the reason he sent her away.

It hadn't taken much to influence her like he did. He'd practice his mind magic hoping to fool Voldemort himself, what he did to Hermione in comparison hadn't been that hard.

He completely erased the conversation they had that day in the infirmary, replacing it with one where she opened up about her insecurities and her fears that the future from her dreams wasn't reliable. After that it only took a couple of nudges to get her to accept Viktor's offer to move in with him, and her mind did the rest, filling the gaps he left by itself.

He debates whether he should open her letter for Draco, too, and after sneaking a look at his sleeping form, he decides to risk it.

He doesn't take his time with this one, just checks to make sure she doesn't mention anything she shouldn't, and when he confirms she didn't, he starts to reseal it.

Before he can do that, though, he hears someone stir behind him.

"Harry?" Draco's sleepy voice asks from the bed, and Harry has to stop himself from reacting. "What are you doing?"

"Just reading a letter, love. Don't worry about it," Harry tries to reassure him, finishing the resealing spell as quietly as he can.

"Hmmm, come back to bed."

Harry puts Draco's letter back on the bedside table, and smiles lovingly at him. "With pleasure," he says.

That was close.

Getting his new wand turns into a whole day of shopping. He's keeping the phoenix feather core hidden for now, keeping it safe just in case he has some use for it later, but Ollivander seems to think the loss of it a tragedy. Sirius and Harry are forced to watch as the wandmaker mourns it before he starts trying to find a new wand to match Harry.

It's a fruitless endeavor, however, as none of the wands he has on stock decide to choose Harry, none of them give him the same feeling his holly wand did, and he's forced to leave the store with a magic stick that works just fine, but does not truly belong to him.

Harry does not complain much about it, he still has his counterfeit wand that Kreacher got for him all those years ago, and although it's not one he can use in public—given the amount of dark magic he's cast with it—he knows he still has one wand he can depend on if his wandless magic skills prove to be lacking.

Harry sneaks away to Knockturn Alley while Sirius goes to do his own shopping, and he buys a few inks made with exotic (and possibly illegal) ingredients. He'll be turning seventeen soon enough, his core reaching a stage of maturity that will prevent any harm from falling to him when he tattoos runes on his skin.

He also buys black hair dye. It's been a year now since Sirius and he dyed their hair on a whim, and while Sirius shows a few inches of dark hair on his mane before the rest of his hair turns blood red, Harry somehow still has a white streak of hair right on top of his forehead.

Sirius had even asked if he had redone it while he was in Hogwarts, and Harry had to lie and say that he'd grown attached to it, when in reality, he hadn't even noticed the oddity.

For lunch godfather and godson meet with the Weasley twins in the Leaky Cauldron. Harry had honestly forgotten that he once gave away his prize money from the tournament to them, and since he knew how successful Weasley Wizard Wheezes could've, he  planned to fix his mistake and invest on it before it took off.

One of the things about being rich he learned from his Draco is that one doesn't stay rich by doing nothing. Opportunities like this are important, and knowing Fred and George, Harry can trust that they won't screw him over.

It doesn't take them long to negotiate. The twins are more than happy to have a marauder and Harry backing their business, so they're not overly greedy or closed off. In the end, both Harry and Sirius decide to invest around seven hundred galleons each, in exchange for a sizable percentage of the profits of the store.

There's also the promise to help out every once in a while to come up with new prototypes for pranks, and Sirius's eyes light up with mischief at that. Harry almost feels sorry for the future victims of their products.

"How's the family doing?" Harry asks once they reach an agreement.

George grins at him. "Charlie has been coming over a lot lately," he says while Fred turns to look at Sirius.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" the other twin asks.

Sirius huffs. "We've been... meeting," he says, trying for nonchalantness, but the small smile on his face betrays him.

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Bugger off," Sirius snorts. "We're just having fun, don't start planning weddings anytime soon."

"Don't worry," Fred says.

"We know all about counting your chickens before they hatch," George finishes.

Harry raises an eyebrow at that. "How so?"

They trade looks before answering. "Ron is still moping around the house about the fact that Hermione left the country with Krum. Apparently, he was planning on asking her out 'soon'."

"Although with him that 'soon' might have been anytime from tomorrow to three years from now on."

Harry grimaces. "Sounds tough."

George shrugs. "He'll get over it. It's not like they were soulmates or anything.'

Harry's heart clenches.

He knows it's just a turn of phrase, but the comment manages to hurt Harry deeply. Ron— the one from the other timeline loved to call Hermione exactly that. His soulmate. She used to roll her eyes at that, reminding him that there was no such thing, but she always kissed him on the cheek whenever he mentioned it anyway.

Harry wonders what would be of him if he never had Draco. Are there any other timelines where the blond never reached out, never pulled him out of his own darkness? Are there universes where Harry goes about his life not knowing that half of his heart resides with Draco Lucius Malfoy?

He doesn't want to know.

If it's meant to be, he'll find a way to bring Hermione back to Britain after the war is over and Harry doesn't have to worry about balancing so many things in his hands. If Ron moves on then that'll be it. He won't push more than that.

He turns to look at Sirius, and thinks of him and Remus, both dead in the past timeline, both dating other people yet still obviously caring for each other. He sees the letters that come and go in and out of Grimmauld Place, carried always by the same owl from Hogwarts, it's not hard to put two and two together and figure out who they're from, although he never goes out of his way to read them.

He's starting to understand that back when Sirius said things between the two of them were complicated, he really meant it.

Harry sighs as the twins tell Sirius their idea for a portable swamp.

It's a shame that not everyone can have such a wonderful relationship like him and Draco, but maybe that's for the best.

Like this, he gets the only Draco out there in the world.

He rather likes it that way.

The Daily Prophet's smear campaign against him doesn't take off this time around. It tries to, of course, but Harry isn't the same clueless kid he was when he turned fifteen during his first life. As soon as the first article mentioning him and his supposed mental instability comes out the Black Family's lawyer gets called.

The man is fast and effective in shutting down any attempt at defamation. Turns out the wizarding world does have laws against libel, who would have thought.

In addition, Harry makes sure to go out to public spaces often, retelling his story to anyone who will ask, and generally showing that he's fine, putting doubts to rest from anyone who read the articles about him before they were taken down.

He knows he's making enemies in the Ministry like this, but he can't find it in himself to care. Fudge has his days counted, both as a minister and as a living human. There's no place in his and Draco's future for a man like him.

Dumbledore gets stripped of titles and positions as the days pass, their lawyer didn't see fit to do anything about it when he was preparing Harry's lawsuit, and neither he or Sirius protested at that.

His relationship with the headmaster is basically non-existent by now. After the tournament he tried to convince Sirius to give up Grimmauld Place as a base for the Order of the Phoenix, but Harry's godfather had firmly refused, stating that he wouldn't open up Harry's home to a bunch of strangers.

In the end, the Weasleys offer their place of residence (whose name Harry couldn't quite recall) as a base after Bill Weasley wards it to hell and back with the help of some of his curse breaker friends at Gringotts, and Sirius and Harry are officially left out of the loop.

It doesn't bother him much. Sure, it would be nice to have an in with them, but from his past life the most he remembers the Order doing is helping out in the fight in the Department of Mysteries, and even then all the Death Eaters they managed to arrest that day were out and causing chaos less than a year after the fact.

Besides, Harry has other things to focus on before the school year starts. His seventeenth birthday, for one. This year, Harry opts to not have a party. He decides to just invite his family for dinner before cutting a cake.

It's a very subdued celebration. Just him, Sirius, Draco, Andromeda, and Ted... and Remus. Neither Narcissa nor Tonks are available that day, both busy with auror work in Tonk's case, and Narcissa neck deep in meetings with the Malfoy family lawyers.

He thought about inviting the Weasleys, but that would have been way too many people for the kind of celebration he wanted, and in the end, the calm and familiar atmosphere is exactly what he needs.

He has a good day and manages to sneak off with Draco for a good chunk of the day to make out in his room, where he's given a celebratory blowjob before they're called back to the living room.

Unfortunately Draco can't stay the night since he and his mother have business at Gringotts the next morning, but for once Harry prefers it that way.

Once Sirius goes to bed Harry strips down to his pants and brings out multiple pots filled with pitch black liquid, ready to start inking his own skin.

Magical tattoos aren't like muggle ones. There aren't any needles involved for one, just painting brushes and a spell to bind those inks to the skin. The process is painless and semi-permanent if you know what you're doing, requiring a special potion to remove ink from the skin once it's been bonded to it.

He draws the runes he wants with care, using a levitation charm on the brush and the full length mirror to check his work in the hard to reach areas like his back.

The rune array is one he designed himself many years ago, and it'll facilitate his ability to focus his magic, making his wandless magic just as effective and precise as when he's using a wand.

Once Harry draws the last rune on his chest, and looks at himself in the mirror, he lets out a tired sigh. It's almost morning now, but he's finally satisfied with the results.

He brings out his counterfeit wand, and casts the spell to bind the ink to his skin, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, he passes out.

In the morning he wakes up with a heavy weight on top of him, and he smiles when Draco stirs lighty, still deep in sleep.

He gets up with a smile on his face, moving to the kitchen where Sirius and Remus are waiting for him.

"Morning pup," "Good morning Harry," his godfather and Remus say as he walks in. Sirius moves to share a cup of tea with him, before leaving another in front of Remus along with a kiss on top of his head.

"Hey," he greets them with a smile. "What are you guys doing?" 

"We just wanted to have a day in," Remus tells Harry. "Just family."

"Oh, me and Draco had plans to go to Diagon later," he tells them.

"Hmmm," a voice hums behind him, trapping his middle section against the table with a pair slender arms, not quite touching him.

"Or," Draco says in his ear, "we could go back to bed and stay there all day long."

"We're meeting with Ron and Hermione, remember?" he says, even though he doesn't remember exactly when he made those plans..

"We could tell them to come over, invite Luna and Nevile, too. There's no need to go outside."

Harry turns around to face him, but something inside him twists unpleasantly.

Harry blinks. "What?"

"You could stay here forever," Sirius says. "Everything you could want is already here."

"Yeah, Harry. Why don't you stay forever?" Remus agrees. He is reading the Daily Prophet as he answers, eyeing an article about the defeat of Voldemort and the subsequent announcement of his and Draco's engagement on the front page.

Harry blinks.

It's perfect.

Something's wrong.

"Where are you going?" the thing that is not Draco asks from behind him as Harry ducks away from its arms.

"Just have to see something outside," Harry tells it, walking away from the room and towards the exit of the house.

The three imitations are fast to follow behind as he walks through the corridors of the house, which are much longer than he remembers them being.

"Wouldn't you rather stay inside?" Not Remus asks. "It's a perfect day for lazing around."

"It'll be only a second," Harry responds coldly, turning around when he realizes he's going the wrong way.

"C'mon, pup. We can watch TV on the couch while you pet Padfoot."

Harry doesn't stop, he doesn't look back, he walks until he sees the front door, ignoring the voices that are not from his family.

He doesn't know when he starts running, or when the voices stop speaking and start yelling, but everything around him is getting darker, and somehow the door seems to be getting farther away with each of his steps.

Harry turns into his raven form and flies towards the door and it's easier then, and when he finally manages to get out of Grimmauld's Place he's met with an empty white space. Not even the familiar white station of limbo is there to greet him.

Harry turns around, but as he does so, the door behind him disappears, leaving him utterly alone.

He flies across the empty space for what feels like ages, not even noticing when his wings start to retreat and his own magic is the only thing left keeping him afloat.

"What the…" he mutters in confusion. "Am I dreaming?'

A noise behind him makes him turn around, and when he sees a silhouette walking away he tries to fly in its direction.

It's a difficult task, but he manages to get closer, trying to move even faster when he recognizes the figure.

"Draco!" Harry shouts, finally crossing the distance between them. He turns him around desperately, but when they're finally face to face, Harry realizes something's not right.

"Harry Potter," the imitation says.

"Who are you?" Harry practically growls.

Its smile is so unlike Draco's it sends shivers down his spine.

"Oh, now you don't remember me? and here I thought we were friends, you greeted me as one, once."

It's then that he realizes who, or rather what he's speaking to. Death , Harry doesn't say. Names have power, after all.

"Smart boy, or should I say man...? Happy seventeenth birthday by the way."

Something about the way it speaks unsettles Harry. "What was that before? What are you doing here?"

Death smiles humorlessly. "Oh, me? I'm just here to give some things back to my dear old master."

Harry frowns. "What things? And you didn't answer my other question."

"Just something I had to try. You've never appreciated my illusions before,"  it says, almost pouting, before pulling something from one of the pockets in its robes. A few vials full of a wispy white substance.

"Are those..." Harry begins to ask, but then he processes what Death just said. "Wait, before? Did you mess with my memories?"

"Got it in one," it tells Harry. "Just for a little bit, anyway. Let's call it payback for last time we saw each other."

"What? When? I know I've died before, I've gone to limbo, but I don't remember you at all," Harry doesn't even pretend this isn't his first life, something in him knows that Death already knows.

"Good," it says, and Harry feels his bones chilling. "After that little trick you pulled..."

"The ritual..."

"You didn't really think you'd managed to break Time without a little help, did you?"

"I had help. I made the proper sacrifices," he tells it stubbornly. Billions of life for a second chance at his.

"Those weren't yours to give away," it tells Harry firmly.

It makes him sweat cold.

"It's time for you to remember, child. Time to know what you gave up when you decided to go through with this plan of yours."

It extends an arm, handing the bottle of memories to Harry, and as soon as his own hand makes contact with them, he feels a blinding pain in the deepest recesses of his mind, passing out immediately.

Harry wakes up with a jolt, his body taking a deep and harsh breath for the first time in hours. Looking up, he sees his reflection in the mirror, and frowns at the sight he makes.

His eyes seem more vibrant than usual, the green shade matching the color of the killing curse perfectly. The white streak on his hair (now resembling silver more than white) is back, despite having dyed it black again a few days ago. The floor around him is covered in ink, not a single of the runes he spent hours painstakingly painting having taken.

They never will, he now knows.

Standing up with shaking legs, he rummages through his drawers, taking a deep breath when he finds what he's looking for. A potions knife Draco gifted to him a few years ago, the blade still as sharp as the first time he used it.

He hesitates when he lifts the knife up, still unsure about what he's about to do, but he doesn't let that stop him. With his eyes closed he brings it down and center, flinching when it makes contact, but besides the pain of it, there's nothing much.

He opens his eyes and looks at himself in the mirror.

The knife is buried deep in his chest, no doubt having gone straight through his heart, but he's still alive.

Pulling it out is another kind of pain, and he has to bite his lip hard in order to not make a sound, but when he does, the hole in his chest starts knitting itself up, the blood going back inside the wound until it closes completely, leaving no evidence of the stab.

Harry closes his eyes and curses.

It hits him then. He's not mortal anymore. He can't die.

As soon as Draco dies he'll be lost to Harry forever.

He can't accept that.

He needs to find a way to make Draco immortal, and he needs to do it fast .

No one will separate them, not even Death.

Chapter Text

The next day the dementors come for him, because of course they do. Harry never expected anything less from Dolores Umbridge, but at the very least he can be glad that he's by himself, his family is nowhere to be seen. He's glad Draco is safe inside the wards of Malfoy Manor and Sirius is on a date with Charlie somewhere far, far away from the little park in muggle London Harry chose to set himself as bait.

He's especially glad to be alone when he realizes that the dementors don't seem to have any effect on him.

Oh, his magic reacts alright, the black tendrils that he's come to associate with his newfound immortality start covering his body, but the creatures aren't able to feed on his happy memories, don't dare get close enough to even consider the thought of giving him the Kiss.

Harry wonders if Death considers removing a soul from its body the same as dying, but then he shakes his head at the thought, it's better not to think about the current state of his soul at the moment.

He doesn't even know if immortal beings have souls.

As he makes his way back home, he can't help but mentally kick himself over the whole situation. He never even suspected that his memories had been tampered with. Last night the primordial being reminded him that not even he is infallible.

His head still stings slightly, but he's glad everything is back in place now, he rather likes making informed choices, and the information he now has changes a couple of things for his future.

Two days ago he'd been under the impression that the ritual he used to come back in time had destabilized reality and used the souls of the people in the world to reconstruct it at a fixed point in time, with everyone that was alive at that point in time seeing no consequences for it.

Turns out that isn't quite the case.

Harry is in the basement of his house, the ritual fully set up and waiting to start. His body is his own, yet he can't seem to control it, words leave his mouth without his input and his limbs move as if he were under the Imperius curse. It doesn't feel unnatural,however. His actions are almost familiar, that's how he realizes what's going on.

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Luna are each at one extreme of the ritual circle, one body for each cardinal direction, or for each natural element.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Ron asks, still doubtful of a ritual of such dark nature, but Harry can't afford him to doubt right now, so he simply nods in answer.

"It'll work," he says, ignoring the way his voice is raspy with disuse, he's become quiet ever since his husband… He's been more quiet over the past years. "We just have to light the candle and start the chanting, and then I'll go back, stop everything from happening."

Stop Hermione from dying , is what his best friend is thinking.

"And what will happen to us?" Neville asks.

Harry doesn't answer at first. "I guess it depends on if it works," is his eventual answer. No one says anything after that.

Luna doesn't ask any questions, Harry suspects she already knows all the ways tonight could end, but she chooses not to intervene.

The ritual starts.

Everything is going better than Harry expected. He can feel his magic saturating the air they're breathing and feeding the fire in the candles, and the blood seeping through the cuts in his arms flows evenly, coating the carved circle in the stone beneath his feet.

They chant until they can't speak anymore, and for a moment Harry hopes it'll work out, that the fire will consume their bodies and send their souls to their younger bodies. They'll be able to fix all their mistakes. They'll stop Voldemort before he rises again, kill all the marked Death Eaters, and live long happy lives with their lost ones.

But that's not what happens.

The fire gets out of control, but they're all stuck in their spots, and a heat unlike anything Harry's experienced runs through them. He can feel his flesh melt off and the life leave Ron's and Nevile’s bodies. Harry closes his eyes and curses before the sweet embrace of Death takes him .

It doesn't occur to him to tell anyone about the dementor's 'attack.’ He didn't try to cast any spell to protect himself, and he's not even underage for that to be a problem anymore, so he simply moves on with his life.

It's easy enough, he can distract himself by reading the many books in Grimmauld's library and doing experiments with the philosopher’s stone he has hidden inside his trunk. Using it to create precious metals is easy enough, but Harry has no idea how it's supposed to produce the elixir of life, or if that elixir has any side effects he should be aware of before he starts sneaking it into Draco's drinks and meals.

He even goes to Gringotts and confirms that not even the Head of the Black family has access to Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault, despite her being born there. It looks like he'll have to ask Narcissa for that favor after all, no matter how much he dislikes the idea of being in her debt.

The ring is still safe in the Gaunt family shack, and Nagini remains by Voldemort's side, so there's nothing to do in that front. Most of the Death Eaters bearing the dark mark and not in Azkaban are tagged with Harry's rune, so he doesn't bother going after them, and the ones that aren't in prison and weren't in the graveyards… Well, Voldemort took care of that for him.

He doesn't have the connection to him anymore, but after the botched ritual and the death of his right hand man Harry can't imagine him being very merciful to his defectors.

Besides, it was pretty much impossible to ignore the sudden deaths and disappearances of the people in his list.

Like that, the beginning of the school year arrives fast, and soon he's in the Hogwarts Express again, Draco sitting on his lap and arguing with Ron, while Neville and Luna talk in hushed voices about rare plants and mythical creatures.

On occasion, Luna's and Harry's eyes meet, and shivers run down the green eyed man's spine, but he does his best to ignore them.

Luna's eyes always seemed like they could see into the deepest corners of one's soul, and after his recent revelation, Harry feels especially on guard against that.

With a blink of his eyes he finds himself in limbo, the walls of Grimmauld Place are as white as dove feathers, and Harry closes his eyes, a single tear falling from the right one, the one that is crossed by the lightning scar on his forehead.

"My Draco," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

 He failed.

"Not exactly," a familiar voice says, startling the grieving man.

Draco's face stares back at him, but immediately, Harry knows that he's not looking at his husband, and he's angry. “Death,” he practically spits. “I don't suppose you'll let me see my real husband this time?”

“Not today, Harry James.”

Harry flinches, but is not surprised. “Don’t call me that, and stop playing around. Take that mask off.”

“Tch, you really are no fun,” it says, changing its appearance until it looks like Dumbledore back when Harry had first died.

It makes one of Harry's eyes twitch, and he turns around so Death won't see the defeated expression on his face, even though it probably still can since they're in its domain. “Here to rub it in? That ritual I found didn't work, you were right.”

At first it doesn't respond, and Harry wonders if he really fucked up this time, but before he can follow that train of thought, it speaks again.

“As I said, not exactly.”

“What do you mean?” he frowns in confusion.

The being took its time to answer. “Your heart stopped, which brought you here, but I can't let your soul go on with all the others, and you won't accept my offer of staying in my realm—”

“I'm not spending the rest of eternity away from my Draco!”

The first time he'd died after Draco's sacrifice had been mere minutes after he found him in their bed, Harry had read his letter and summoned a vial of the strongest poison Draco kept in his laboratory. He lay down in his bed, holding Draco’s lifeless body in his arms and swallowed the entire vial in one gulp. He'd been ready to move on, all he wanted was to reunite with his family, his parents, his godfather, his husband. He didn't even blink when he woke up in limbo, but learning that he couldn't go to the afterlife had dealt a massive blow on his psyche.

It was only after waking up again that he allowed himself to cry, to rage, to scream and destroy everything around him, but in the end it was moot. He and his Draco had been separated and he didn’t have the power to reunite with him.

I open at the close . There's not one day he doesn't regret opening that damned snitch.

Death rolled its eyes. “Like I said, I suspect that you, as usual, will choose to go back again, as is your right as the Master.” Harry nods, “but the problem with that is that your body was pretty much destroyed by the ritual’s fire.”

Harry winces. “So, what now?”

“It's unorthodox, but I have an idea.”

“Who is that?” Tracey asks during the welcoming feast, once Umbridge interrupts Dumbledore's welcoming speech.

“Dolores Umbridge, she’s the secretary to the Minister, I think,” Pansy tells her.

“Senior undersecretary,” Draco corrects with a sarcastic voice. “Father… she came to the manor for dinner once. She's… unpleasant falls short.”

Harry snorts. “She's been trying for years to get a bunch of laws against werewolves passed, but she hasn't gotten very far,” he tells them. The fact that Harry’s been killing all her allies and derailing her plans stays unsaid.

The two girls and Draco give Lupin in the professor's table a quick glance, and Harry has to hold back his laughter at the fact that his ex-step-godfather’s condition is pretty much an open secret by now.

“How do you know that, Harry?” Tracey asks.

Harry takes a bite of treacle tart as he speaks. “Sirius holds the Black Family seat in the Wizengamot, and he's the proxy to the Potter seat as well, so he has to put up with her every time the Wizengamot meets, and as soon as he gets home he gets drunk and complains very loudly about her.”

Draco chuckles, he'd been there to catch Harry's godfather in one of his drunken rants once or twice, and the amount of toad related insults he managed to unload in a short amount of time was unparalleled.

“Okay…” Tracey says, “but what is she doing here?”

Both Pansy and Draco look at Harry, not saying anything.

“She's here for me,” he says for them.

Pansy sighs. “The ministry doesn’t like what he said at the end of the tournament, or what Dumbledore has been saying ever since, so they sent her to… spy, I guess.”

Draco nods in agreement. “Fudge is an insecure man-child, he probably thinks the old goat is after his position, nevermind that if he really wanted it he'd have taken it years ago, so Umbridge is here to remind us of the power of the ministry.”

Harry scoots over his seat until he's pressed flush against his boyfriend, one arm wrapped against his lithe frame. “You're so sexy when you say smart things,” he whispers in his ear, lightly nipping the lobe with his teeth.

Draco blushes. “Not here, Harry!” he whispers furiously.

Harry smiles at him, tuning out the rest of the conversation between Pansy and Tracey. “As soon as we get to our room, then. We still have to celebrate you being a prefect, don't we?”

If possible, Draco's blush deepens, and Harry thinks that's way more important than whatever self serving speech Umbridge is giving. Her furious eyes burning in the back of his head have nothing on the kiss in the cheek Draco gives him before going back to his dessert.

The pink toad is going to have to try really hard if she wants to get anything from him.

“Time travel,” Harry says angrily. “You've been able to send me back in time all this time and it's only now that you bring it up!?”

Death doesn't seem affected by his glare, if anything, it shows amusement. “Oh, don't pout. It's not that simple.”

Harry grit his teeth. “Then explain.”

“Life and Death. It's supposed to be a cycle, you know?” it tells Harry, illustrating its speech with a wave of its hand.

Two shapeless forms dance around each other, never quite touching yet maintaining harmony. Eventually, what Harry assumes is a little human body appears, and a portion of one of the shapes goes inside of it, slowly changing as it ages.

It doesn't last forever however, eventually the figure slows down and halts to a stop. It's then that life leaves it and death jumps right in, rotting the body until it's nothing but pieces.

Harry clenches his jaw.

It seems like that's the end of it, but eventually the pieces slowly get back together, forming a human for life to enter.

“The souls never stay in my realm permanently. Eventually, they leave their memories, their hopes, their dreams, all that makes them them until they're pure, and then Life helps them reincarnate into something entirely new. A cycle.”

Harry doesn't understand where this is going, but he refuses to say so.

“We work in tandem, and in doing so, the things we can do are short of miraculous. Now, if I were to lend you a small amount of my magic, and you combined it with, say, a ritual powered by the life force of a few living beings, I'm sure rewinding time a couple of minutes would be feasible.”

Harry lets that information sink in for a couple of moments. “So… what the ritual needed to work was death magic?”

“If you want to call it that,” Death shrugs, but Harry's mind is already racing.

“As the Master of Death, or whatever it is I am, don't I have death magic?”

“You would, if you renounced your mortality,” It tells him, “but as we both know, you won't do that, will you? You won't be able to rest eternally with your Draco if you do,” Death is mockingly pouting by the end of the sentence, making fun of Harry's love. He can feel his blood boiling.

“ You're right,” he tells it. “I'm not giving up on him.”

This only seems to anger the being.

“Whatever,” it huffs. “ Let's send you back, Harry James.”

He could kill her immediately if he wanted to do so. In fact, more than once he stopped to ask himself why he hadn't done it yet. He had years to sneak into her home and suffocate her with her own pillow, make her swallow an undetectable poison, just shoot an Avada Kedavra to her chest.

It would be so easy.

But he doesn't want it to be easy. He wants her to suffer. He's not naive enough to think she's innocent just because she hasn't personally carved words into his hand, he doesn't think for even a second that her cruelty was limited to the year she spent as a professor in his first life.

She doesn't have a dark mark, but she's just as bad as any of the Death Eaters, even worse than some, considering all he knows about the subject. Any punishment he gave her during his summer vacations would fall short, and with her position, most of her actions would be buried with her corpse if he just got rid of her.

So he's not going to kill her just yet. Oh no, she's going to do that on her own.

Harry smiles over the sleeping figure of Dolores Umbridge. “Oh, Dolores. We have a long year ahead of us,” he tells her, slipping a single drop of the potion he brought in her mouth.

She doesn't stir in her sleep, but her expression shifts for just a second, like she just swallowed a bitter pill. 

He corks the potion vial after making sure it's working, and with a wave of his hand, resets the security wards in her room before leaving.

His footsteps make no sound as he walks through the empty hallways of the castle, he makes sure to stop by the kitchens before going back to the dorms, Draco must be getting impatient as he waits for the hot chocolate Harry promised to bring him.

He can't wait to lick it off his lips.

It hurts.

Death had used its own magic to rewind time a couple of minutes before the ritual, but while his friends seemed completely unaware of it, Harry had to suffer through the reconstruction of every molecule of his body.

It isn't a pleasant experience, to say the least.

And even then it's just the beginning.

He can feel when Death's magic stops flowing through him, stopping the rewind effect, but Harry isn't going to let all his efforts go to waste.

It takes only a moment to find that lock inside of himself, that distinctive magic that isn't quite his, yet belongs to no one but him. His mortal shell could never quite handle it, and he knows that letting it flow freely will be irreversible, no spell will be able to turn him back into a human after he sheds his mortality, and yet—

“What are you doing!?” Death screeches, appearing for once into the realm of the living, its form is shaky, showing exactly how much effort it takes it to appear.

“Exactly what you wanted me to,” Harry tells it, breathing heavily as he struggles to channel his own magic. The spell has already been cast, all he has to do is continue powering it. The world around him is nothing but flashes of color, spinning backwards as time itself bends to Harry's will.

“Are you serious!? He will die again! They all will! You're wasting your time!”

“Is that so?” Harry asks, somehow managing to sound sarcastic even while his body experiences extreme pain. “Then you shouldn't have a problem with it. I'll figure something out… I always do.”

“Don't do this! You don't need them! you have me! You're my master! I won't ever leave you!”

Harry coughs, black blood leaving his lips with the action. “Sorry Death, I have a husband already, and he doesn’t like to share.”

“Say it,” Harry growls as he pushes inside of Draco, his hot entrance slowly making way for inch after inch of Harry's thick cock.

Underneath him Draco is panting as he tries to relax during the intrusion, his nails digging deep in he skin of Harry's back. “I—I’m…” he whines, before trailing off.

Harry's only halfway inside of him, but Draco's body is still small, still struggling to take him in, Harry has a hand on his lower back soothing him as he claims him for the first time. “Say it, love. Say you belong to me.”

“...Yours,” Draco cries, his heels pushing against Harry's buttocks, greedily and wordlessly asking for him to continue pressing in. 

Harry has no intention of refusing him, doesn't stop pushing his cock inside of Draco until he's buried all the way to the hilt, his pubic hair tickling against Draco's rim.

The younger teen lets out a gasp, and Harry smiles as he takes in the sight his lover makes. Face flushed red, pupils blown wide almost hiding the gray of his eyes, mouth slightly parted, showing off his cute tongue between his rosy pink lips. 

“Again,” Harry pleads, pulling out, savoring the feeling of Draco's walls trying to keep him in.

“Yours,” Draco tells him, shivering with pleasure. “I'm yours.”

The words light sparks inside of Harry, who doesn't hesitate to push his cock back inside of Draco, who keens with pleasure at the act, his head falling back against his pillow when Harry fully sheaths himself in again.

“You're mine, Draco, and I'm yours,” Harry whispers into his ear, hissing when Draco's insides quiver around his member. He doesn't up the pace for a long time, making sure to instead go as deep and hard as he possibly can with each trust, lazily playing with Draco's prick while he does so.

His boyfriend can do nothing but take it, too busy adjusting to all the new sensations Harry provides him, savoring Harry's love one thrust at a time. The noises he makes are intoxicating, they fuel Harry's body, so as payment he makes sure to rub against Draco's prostate as often as possible, tracking his progress by listening to the noises of pleasure the blond tries and fails to hold back. “You like that?” he asks him. “Like it when my cock touches your sweet spot?”

“Ahhh!” Draco cries out.

Eventually it's too much for him, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as his orgasm hits him with full force, his toes curling and his insides clenching and unclenching around Harry's manhood as he splurts rope after rope of semen between his and Harry's body, painting his own chest white.

The mere sight is enough to send Harry, who had been close ever since he entered him, over the edge. He makes sure to bury himself as deep as possible before shooting, leaving his come so deep inside of Draco it'll take magic to get it out.

After that he lets himself fall on top of Draco like a puppet with its strings cut, not even caring about the sticky mess between them.

They stay like that for a couple of minutes, only the sound of their lazy post coital kisses filling the room.

Separating their bodies is one of the hardest things Harry's had to do in his two lives, but eventually he does it, moving only to summon a wet warm towel to lovingly clean the cum off of Draco's skin.

They don't put on any clothes after that, they stay naked, their bodies tangled in a mess of limbs that Harry wouldn't trade for the world.

“I love you,” Draco tells him, his voice unbelievably soft, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

Harry feels like he's going to cry too. “I love you too, Draco,” he says instead. “So much more than you imagine.”

Draco giggles, “I love you, I love you, I love you…” he says, and Harry has no choice but to kiss him again, and again, and again.

He falls asleep while Harry plays with his hair, unaware that his boyfriend is not even human anymore.

‘It was worth it’ Harry tells himself. He has the love of his life in his arms, alive and well, when he once thought it would be impossible to achieve.

He's still painfully mortal, fragile, breakable, but so was Harry, once upon a time. He drops a kiss against his forehead, closing his eyes and trying to sleep, despite the fact that he doesn't need to. 

He's already gotten one over Death once, he only needs to do it again.

If he can't die with Draco, he'll just have to make him immortal and spend eternity with him instead.

Chapter Text

It's funny how much potions can do.

When Harry first heard about the subject, he imagined it was a little bit like cooking. You have a bunch of ingredients and you follow a recipe until you get something useful. Hermione, on the other hand, used to think that they were more like chemistry, combining base materials to obtain new compounds and reactions, only with some added magic. Science, with an extra flavor.

They both eventually learned they were wrong.

“Potions are an art form,” his Draco was quick to correct them, face scrunched up in a frown. “You can't simply compare it to muggle chemistry, or cooking.” He’d said the last word like it personally offended him.

Had it been a few years before, they would have taken his words as an attack on muggles, but years of friendship and love let them see that it was merely a fact to him.

He paced around the room, hands moving wildly as he attempted to get his point across. “Potions are magic in liquid form, the same ingredient harvested during different lunar phases, or added with different intent can create vastly different results, and the results themselves can be as straightforward as cuhanging the color of an object or aiding sleep, to abstract concepts and esoteric ideas like seeing into the past, or changing your luck. It's a subject far more complex than whatever you think the muggle equivalent is.”

At that point Hermione had thrown out a counterargument, and Harry had nodded and pretended to understand as the two most brilliant people he knew started to discuss topics way above his level.

But of course, Harry couldn't stay ignorant forever, not when he was living in the same house as a potions master as skilled as his Draco. It took him a while, but he learned. He knows his way around a potion or two.

Which is why he's confident the one affecting Umbridge will bring her downfall.

“She’s weird,” one girl says as she fixes her makeup in the hallway.

Next to her, her friend nods in agreement. ”She came to supervise my divination class this morning and I swear I saw her eating a fly,” she says with clear disgust in her tone.

“Gross. I heard she had some troll blood in her family,” a third girl adds while making a face.

“No way, I heard she was one quarter giant toad on her mother’s side, it was that or her grandma being a squib, one of the two.”

“How does that even happen? I mean, how big are giant toads in the first place?” the second girl asks.

“I don’t even want to know,” the first girl replies, and the three of them walk away between laughs. 

From his place behind the corner of the hallway, Harry smirks.

Since she’s not a professor this time around, Umbridge has nothing much to do other than wander the hallways of the school and “supervise” whatever class she feels like getting in, but without any real authority to give out detentions, none of the students are truly scared of her.

Besides, as far as they're concerned, she isn't exactly quite there, mentally speaking.

Again, potions can do wonderful things.

Spells misfiring, accidental self transfiguration, weird appetite, all of these things keep happening to Umbridge and given the undetectable nature of the concoction Harry forced on her, they show no sign of stopping.

Of course all effects mysteriously disappear whenever one of the saner professors comes near her, it wouldn't do if any one of them realized what is going on, after all. It hadn't been hard locking the potion to their essences, a single strand of hair falls as easily as one walks, it only takes a keen eye to pick up on them, and with Harry's fixed eyesight and his senses sharpened, it's child's play for him.

And to think that’s not anywhere near the end of what he plans to do with her, but it's still the first term of the school year, he has time to slowly escalate.

He's particularly looking forward to  the horrible nightmares that will plague her dreams, and the shadowy figures that she’ll see in the corner of her eyes every now and then. She'll be lucky if she manages to sleep after that starts, the paranoia will slowly start to erode her mind, and just when she thinks it's all over…

Harry chuckled. Well, he had to give it to the Neo Death Eaters, at least they created some impressive potions.

Behind him, he can hear as the nearest classroom starts emptying itself out, classes finished for the day, right in the middle of the crowd that forms, stands a blond teenager, scribbling furiously in a piece of parchment without looking at his surroundings.

Harry smiles and puts himself in his path, not even budging a little when he crashes right into his chest.

“Bloody Salazar! Watch where you're—Harry?” Draco's tone changes in a fraction of a second. “What are you doing here?”

“Just waiting for my boyfriend,” he tells him honestly, the butterflies in his stomach going crazy when Draco’s cheeks turn a light pink.

“Excuse me,” someone interrupts them, clearly bumping against them on purpose before moving along. Harry is about to say something before he realizes who the person is.

“Was that…”

Draco huffs, nodding in confirmation. “Ronald has been in a right mood for ages now. I think it just hit him that Hermione isn’t coming back.” 

Harry winces.

He doesn't regret sending Hermione away, not when her presence put his plans in jeopardy, but he doesn't like seeing Ron like this, either. Perhaps he should do something to cheer up his friend. “Who is the keeper for Gryffindor's quidditch team, again?” he asks.

Draco frowns. “Cormac Mclaggen, the big oaf, why?”

“Just curious,” he answers.

Harry never liked that guy anyway.

If he were to describe it in simple words, Harry's fifth year revolves around making plans. How to kill the remaining Death Eaters, how to cheer up his friend/cause the downfall of an annoying Gryffindor, how to take the elder wand away from Dumbledore, how to make sure Draco stays with him for eternity.

The more complicated version is that most of those things are a little more correlated than one would initially think.

The first step on his plan to make Draco immortal is to become as powerful as possible. Sure, he's already pretty strong, compared to any other human being, but as far as higher existences goes, he's nothing compared to Death. There is something that could help him shorten that gap, though.

The Deathly Hallows.

He's been letting Dumbledore keep the deathstick for the time being. Killing Voldemort shouldn't be that hard now that he knows all of his secrets, so he hasn't bothered collecting it, having no use for it. Also, stealing the wand belonging to the most powerful wizard known is bound to raise a lot of flags, and Harry hasn't wanted to deal with it, but if he wants to defy the cycle of life and death, he can't let some minor inconvenience like that put him off.

Thing is, he's pretty sure the only way he can make the headmaster part ways with his wand is if he dies, and he would rather not be the one to cast the spell himself. Not that he has any moral qualms about it, but he'd prefer to not risk being a suspect in the eventual investigation that would follow, and regardless, the man has his days counted, what with the resurrection stone still being hidden inside the ring horcrux that he'll eventually put on his finger.

That's one problem that'll take care of itself. Eventually.

In the meanwhile he's started to practice with what he's calling death magic, which is somehow completely foreign yet so familiar it always manages to make him pull on his hair with frustration. He can do things with it that regular magic can't, and if he were really a teenager like he looks he'd really like to show McGonagall that the five foot essay he got an O in about Gamp’s Law is complete bullshit.

He can turn the simplest of poisons deadly as basilisk venom, can keep a mouse on the brink of death for hours and can bring their souls back into their dead bodies for a little while if he does it fast enough.

It's not really the answer to his problem though. He doesn't need death right now. He needs life.

Something that can stretch Draco's life indefinitely and doesn't rely on an external object that can be destroyed like the philosopher's stone. Something that can protect him from injury and diseases both the way turning him into a vampire won't, something that won't change him and turn him into a shade of himself like creating a horcrux of him would.

It's not an easy task.

Thankfully, winter holidays are just around the corner, so he can once again go to Grimmauld Place and scrounge through the library for anything that would aid him—which reminds him, is about time for that to happen.

He doesn't have a connection to Voldemort or Nagini anymore,so he can't dream of her attacking Mr. Weasley, but telling when someone is on the verge of death? someone whose magic signature he knows, someone he's lived with? that he can do.

Harry takes the time to mess up his clothes and hair, using a simple spell to make them look like they're covered in sweat. All to make it look like he just woke up from a nightmare.

Swiftly, he gets in bed with Draco and dispels the sleeping charm his boyfriend was under before suddenly shooting up with a gasp.

His sharp movements wake the sleeping boy besides him, who clings onto him as he pretends to shake in fear.

“What—Harry? What's wrong?” Draco asks, concern clear in his voice even through his sleepy state.

Harry just shakes his head, rummaging through his bedside table for his holly wand.

“Expecto Patronum,” he cries out. “Go to Dumbledore. Tell him I had a vision about Arthur Weasley being attacked by Voldemort's snake. He needs help now!”

His phoenix cries once before flying away through the brick walls of the castle, and Harry buries his face in Draco's neck, let's himself be hugged as he fakes silent sobs.

“Shhhh, it'll be alright,” Draco says, rubbing his back in an attempt to calm him down, despite his own accelerated heart rate, but Harry's not really upset. He's thinking of the silver bird delivering his message.

A phoenix, huh? Now that's an idea.

Mr. Weasley  survives without Harry having to interfere any further, but he, Draco, and the Weasley kids get sent to The Burrow (and yes, suddenly remembering that the place exists after being told the secret feels just as weird as it did the first time) and then St. Mungo's that same night.

It's stressful for pretty much everyone involved, but the person who seems to have taken it the worst is definitely Ron.

“We need to do something,” the redhead says, voice shaking with fury while they sit in the waiting room of the hospital.

“What do you mean?” Draco asks.

“You-Know-Who—No. Voldemort keeps getting stronger, and I'm sick of being stuck in the castle while the adults fight. We need to do something to help too before I go barmy,” Ron rants.

Harry trades glances with his boyfriend. “What do you suggest?”

It seems to be exactly what Ron wanted him to ask. “The minister sent that crazy lady to keep a watch on Dumbledore because he's afraid that he'll like, raise an army or something, isn't he?”

Harry nods slowly.

“Then let's do that. Let's make an army, rally all of the upper year students who are willing to fight and teach them how to defend themselves! Harry, you won the Triwizard Tournament! You could teach it!”

Harry blinks. Without Hermione here to incite it, he hadn't imagined the D.A forming again, but what Ron is saying is pretty much just that.

On his side, Draco frowns. “That is—”

“A brilliant idea, mate!” Harry says, interrupting what surely was going to be a disparaging comment, “but I don't think I'd be able to do it, not if Umbridge is keeping an eye on me like we suspect. We need someone she'll underestimate, someone who can be a secret mastermind, someone—”

“Like me…” he whispers. “I'll do it, I'll set everything up, mate, you just worry about showing up and I'll deal with everyone. We’ll win this war before Voldemort even knows what hits him.”

“Yeah,” Draco says unenthusiastically “You do… that, Weasley.”

Ron grins, his chest filling up with pride. “I'll write an owl to Hermione, I'm going to ask her what she thinks!” he says before running off.

Draco waits until he crosses a corner before turning to look at Harry. “He does know that St. Mungo's doesn't have an owlery, right?”

Harry shakes his head and takes his boyfriend into his arms, kissing his forehead to ease the frown starting to form. “He needs something to keep his mind on now that Herms is gone, this will be a good project for him.”

“Right until Umbridge finds out about it and brings the whole of Fudge's fury on him.”

“Then we'll have to make sure that she doesn't find out, won't we?” he asks. “About time we showed that being sneaky Slytherins is good for something.

“I guess…”

Harry snorts. “C'mon, let's see if this place has a cafeteria, I'm starving.”

Draco eagerly agrees. They haven't had the chance to just stop and recollect themselves ever since they were dragged away from the castle, with the visit to the hospital, food was the last thought on anyone's mind.

Luckily for them, the hospital does have a cafeteria, and when they enter it they find that they weren't the only ones with food in their minds.

“Hey, Tonks,” Harry greets the pink haired auror when they spot her shoving half a sandwich into her mouth.

“Hawwy! Dwaco! she says with a mouth full of food. “What awe ‘ou ‘oing he'e?”

Draco frowns. “What?”

She smiles sheepishly, quickly swallowing to make room in her mouth for words. “Sorry, what are you doing here?”

“Didn't you hear?” Draco asks slowly. “Mr. Weasley got attacked last night, he's in the Dai Llewellyn Ward.”

Her face pales as soon as she hears the words. “That's for Maladies and Injuries, isn't it? Is he okay!?” she asks, sounding slightly desperate.

Harry makes a face. “He's fine, he was attacked by His snake last night but they said he'll have a full recovery. Mrs. Weasley is fuzzing over him right now.”

Her lower lip trembles slightly. “Good. That's good,” she says, mostly to herself.

Harry trades a look with his boyfriend. Something is wrong with her, or maybe not wrong per se, but strange at the very least.

Draco seems to share the same thoughts, because without a single hint of subtlety, he immediately turns to ask her about it. “What are you doing here if you didn't know about the attack?”

Her hair suddenly goes from bright bubblegum to a reddish pink. “Me!? Nothing!” she says, her words coming out way too quickly, making it clear that she is hiding something. “I just had to come for a quick check up, but everything's fine! Ha ha ha.”

Harry raises his hands defensively. “Alright, alright, you don't have to tell us, but are you sure that you're fine?”

Once again her lower lip wobbles, but she refuses to express anything more than that. “I'm… yeah, I'll be fine.” Her voice sounds wrecked, but neither of the boys comments on it, choosing to give her privacy.

“Harry and I were thinking about going back home, to Grimmauld's Place I mean, could you apparate us there?” Draco asks softly.

It's a lie, clearly, but a well intentioned one, Tonks doesn't seem to want to be here, so Draco wants to take her somewhere where she can be comfortable, somewhere with her family, even if that's only Sirius.

“Oh… I can't—I mean, we should take the floo!” she says. “Why don't you boys go ahead and I'll meet you there? I still have a few things to take care of here.”

Draco bites his lower lip, crossing his arms in preparation to argue against it, but Harry's hand pressing on the small of his back stops him from doing so.

“Alright,” he says instead. “We'll meet you there.”

Her face fills with relief, and that's the only thing that stops them both from pushing further, but he knows that the weird interaction will stay on their minds until they get some answers.

He could never resist a mystery, after all.

Of course, the mystery ends up solving himself sooner rather than later.

After grabbing some sandwiches, the two teenagers give their goodbyes and make their way to the floo station. Harry could apparate them back home if he wanted, but again, secrecy stops him from revealing that card.

He really wishes he didn't care about it, though, because he doesn't think he'll ever like taking the floo.

He's come far from the first time he used it, and nowadays he can even manage to stay upright when coming out of the other end of one, but his stomach is decidedly unhappy with the experience.

“I hate that,” he whispers, gaining a chuckle from Draco.

“You say that about every magic method of transportation.”

“I like flying!” Harry argues. “And maybe they should invent something that doesn't make you want to spill your guts out.”

“Baby,” Draco says.

“You can't really think calling me a pet name will make me change my mind.”

“No, I'm calling you a baby, I'm making fun of you,” Draco explains seriously.

Harry raises an eyebrow while Draco smirks. “Oh? Is that how it is?” he asks, walking slowly towards the shorter blond, making him take a step backwards.

“Mhmm,” Draco replies, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling further.

Harry takes another step forward, forcing Draco to go further backwards, until his back is pressed against the wall. “Take it back,” Harry whispers into his ear.

Draco swallows hard, his cheeks painted a rosy pink. “Or what?” he asks. “You'll punish me?”

Harry takes both his wrists with one hand, pulling on them until they're over his head. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

One of his legs is pressed between Draco's slightly parted ones, his thigh forcing him to be on his tippy toes while he arches his back. “Maybe I will punish you,” Harry says. “I bet you'll look lovely with your arse painted red.”

Draco's breath falters, his eyes going from Harry's eyes, to his lips, and then back up.

Harry can't resist it then, he moves forward, crashing their lips together and swallowing the resulting moan from Draco's mouth.

His free hand quickly reaches underneath his top, or rather, Harry's top. They didn't have much time to unpack, so he's wearing one of Harry's muggle sweaters, he looks so beautiful it's a wonder it took Harry so long to attack.

Draco's back arches further, until their bodies are practically plastered to each other's, not even  a shred of light able to pass between them.

He could do this forever, Harry thinks, but unfortunately, the other inhabitants of the house don't seem to like the idea, because a shout interrupts the teenagers from their make out session quite rudely.

Harry and Draco exchange annoyed looks, separating after a final peck to check what the commotion is about.

There in the living room are Sirius and Remus, both men wearing messy clothes, ruffled hair, and swollen lips. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what they were doing, but the way Sirius pushes Remus’ chest away from him takes Harry by surprise.

“He's half your age!” Remus yells out, making it clear what the fight is about even from another room, but neither he or Draco make a move to reveal themselves.

“So is Tonks!” Sirius answers with the exact same volume. “And she's my cousin, and you don't see me giving you shit about her! I've never complained about you taking her on dates or holding her hand despite the fact that you never did that with me!” His voice falters then. “Why did you never do that with me?”

Remus takes a step backwards, as if hit. “That's… that's different.”

Sirius takes a step forward, pressing his index finger against his chest. “Why? Because she's a woman? Because she never went to Azkaban? Just fucking say that i'm not good enough for you! but don't come here trying to get into my pants pretending like you care about me!”

“You know I care about you,” he says through gritted teeth.

Sirius snaps. “Then why the fuck do you keep leaving me!?”

“I'M GOING TO DIE!” Remus screams.

The room falls silent, and Draco's hand snakes around his.

“Do you know how long the average werewolf lives, Sirius?” Remus asks in a pained tone.

Sirius doesn't answer immediately, so Remus continues. “Fifty years,” he says simply.

Draco's hold on him tightens.

He knows that the average wizard is capable of living for over 200 years if they take care of themselves, but 50 years… that is barely a fourth of that. A lump forms in his throat, the situation painfully familiar to him, he knows what it's like to have a mental countdown to your lover's death, he can't even imagine what he'd do if he'd been in his Draco's—or in this case Remus' position.

While he's thinking Remus starts pacing the room, stress clear on his face. “Look, I… like Tonks, but she's not,” he pulls on his hair, trying to find the words. “With her it's casual, I don't love her, not really… If I die, it'll hurt her, but she'll move on, find someone younger, fitter.”

“Moony…”

“I can't do that to you,” Remus whispers. “I know you, Sirius, I know that every single death still haunts you… James, Lily, Marlene, Gideon, Fabian, Regulus, I've seen you staring at your father's name in the tapestry when you think you're alone, and I can't—I can't promise you forever when I know I have ten years at most.”

“You don't know that,” Sirius tries. “Greyback is nearly seventy and he's still running around without issue.”

“And he's more wolf than human,” is Remus' response. “I saw pictures of him before he turned me… He looked nothing like he does now, he was just a person. I don't want to end up like that.”

Even more familiar images, Remus slowly losing his humanity, his Draco vanishing to make room in his body for Voldemort. His breath falters.

“You never said anything.”

“I'm a coward, Sirius. I've always been,” he laughs mirthlessly. “Turns out I'm also a jealous arsehole. I know I should let you date Charlie, I know I have no place to complain, but whenever I see you two together I get so mad—Sorry, I know it's not your fault.”

Sirius takes a deep breath, and for a moment Harry thinks he's about to tear him a new one but what ends up coming out of his mouth is something else.

“I love you,” he says.

“What?”

“I love you, you stupid arsehole,” Sirius repeats, annoyance clear in his voice. “I would rather spend those ten years together with you than pretending it doesn't kill me playing at being casual, or waiting for you to come back after you leave in the middle of the night for the umpteenth time.”

Remus swallows hard. “I—”

“No. Shut up, you had your turn to talk. Now's mine” Sirius interrupts him. “I know that you're a pessimist, but ten years ago Wolfsbane didn't exist, we didn't even think it was possible to make, so who's to say they won't find a cure for lycanthropy in another ten? We could have ten years, or maybe twenty, or an entire century, but we won't know unless you decide to take what you want, Remus.”

“It's not easy for me…”

Sirius growls. “So what? Are you just gonna give up before you even try?”

Never, Harry thinks to himself. He'd never give up when it concerns Draco. If Remus has any sense, then neither will he.

“What about Charlie?”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “You didn't care about him when you were ripping my shirt open and shoving your tongue down my throat ten minutes ago.”

Remus winces.

“And Charlie made it pretty clear after the first night that dragons are the love of his life,” Sirius shrugs. “Can’t really fight against that.”

A charged silence fills the room, and the two men spend a few moments looking into each other's eyes. A stalemate. It can't last forever, though, and Remus is the one that ends up speaking first.

“I really do love you, Sirius,” he says, voice full of sentiment.

Sirius braces himself. “But?”

Remus looks at him heartbroken. “No buts,” he promises. “Not this time, not if you'll still have me.”

He takes a step forward towards Sirius, who stands still with his arms crossed, and slowly takes one of his hands in his. “Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Take me back?”

Again, no one speaks for a long time, not until Sirius bites his lower lip and looks up into Remus' eyes. “You can't leave again. Back then I didn't care if you hurt me, I thought I deserved it, but I have Harry now.” The green eyed teen blinks, stunned by his godfather's words. “You can't do that shit to him—to us, Remus.”

“I won't. I swear,” he promises with a chaste kiss to Sirius' lips.

Harry thinks this might be a good moment to reveal themselves, or to fall back and sneak into his room, pretending that they saw nothing, but it soon becomes impossible to do so.

“Awwww,” a new voice says, making both men jump and separate as if burned.

But it isn't Harry, or Draco. He turns behind towards the source of the voice, and that's when he finally sees her.

Tonks is standing right behind them.

“Nymphadora,” “Cousin,” both Remus and Sirius say at the same time, shock written clearly in their expressions.

Tonks' eyes are misty with unshed tears, and both he and Draco find themselves frozen between the three adults.

“That's so sweet,” she says, Harry suspects she's attempting to sound sarcastic, but to his ears she just sounds hurt.

“This isn't —” Remus attempts to say, but her snort cuts through his words like a hot knife through butter.

“Not what it looks like?” she asks sardonically. “Yeah, I really doubt that.”

“Cousin, I'm so sorry—”

“Save it,” she manages to say. “I just came to share some news and to check in on the boys after I stayed back at the hospital.”

Draco, whose fingernails are this close to drawing blood where they're holding Harry's arms, is the one to speak next. “News?”

She smiles at him, but it's pretty obvious she's faking it. “I just wanted to tell Remus that I'm pregnant,” she says, barely holding back tears as she turns to look at the werewolf. “Just thought I'd let you know.”

She turns around without giving either of them a chance to speak, grabbing a handful of floo powder and disappearing in a blaze of green flames in the middle of the chimney.

The silence that follows is heavy as a box full of bricks. 

So of course Sirius is the one who breaks it. “Bloody hell,” he curses.

Remus just collapses into the sofa, and Draco is covering his mouth with his hand, his eyes as wide as plates.

“Do you think she'll let me be godfather?” Harry asks, making the situation even worse, gaining three matching glares from the other men in the room, but really, it isn't his fault. He can't think of anything else right now.

Actually, there's another thought in his head.

Family dinners are about to become even more awkward, that's for sure

Chapter Text

“Well, at least no one died,” Sirius says as soon as they get back home from dinner with the Tonks and the Malfoys, trying to clear the gloom aura that's formed around the three wizards.

“I'm the worst person in the world,” Remus says in response, being as optimistic as he's currently capable of.

“I'm pretty sure there's a certain someone with a snake face who hasn't croaked it yet,” is Harry's only contribution. It’s the only thing he can think to say, because for once in his lives, it turns out he was wrong. Family dinner wasn't awkward. It was downright miserable.

Picture it, if you will.

None of the women will speak to Remus, who is stuck in a perpetual state of guilt and doesn't know whether to try and talk to Tonks, or stay as far away as possible from her, which really, isn't much of a difference from his usual self.

Sirius is also on thin ice, Narcissa and Andromeda speak to him with words that to Harry's ear sound perfectly fine, but make Draco flinch every single time they're spoken.

He's smart enough to know that they're using all their years of training in pureblood etiquette to do… something to him, he's not exactly sure what that something is, but it's obvious that if Remus is enemy number one, then Sirius isn't too far behind.

“I mean, he was with him first,” Harry tries to argue in defense the man.

But when he's met with three pairs of ice cold gray glares he stops talking for the rest of the evening.

The food is nice enough, but it doesn't escape Harry's notice that they've made all the dishes Remus has gone on the record to say he dislikes, which is a level of pettiness Harry can at least respect. He'd laugh about it if it wasn't for the fact that he's too busy fuzzing over his boyfriend who is moping because this is his first Christmas without his father.

Ah, consequences for his actions, how Harry hates them.

He doesn't even get a chance to comfort him properly, let alone drop a single kiss on him. That's the biggest tragedy of it all, in his humble opinion 

To top it all off, Dumbledore drops by. Harry's not sure how the headmaster knew he would be with the Tonkses, but he doesn't even speak to him, in the short time that he joins them, he tells Sirius (not asks, or suggests, he simply informs him like it's a foregone conclusion) that Harry will be learning Occlumency from Snape once he gets back to the castle.

Sirius isn't very amenable to that idea.

“No way in hell,” are his exact words, if Harry's ears are to be believed.

But eventually, he'd been convinced by the headmaster's expertly crafted words, and they had said their goodbyes before coming back home.

Remus makes a beeline for the couch, where he plants face first into the cushion without a hint of the dignity Harry knows him to maintain, and Sirius sighs before accio-ing a bottle of liquor and turning on the telly, and Harry knows they'll pass out just like that.

So he's snuck out to do some de-stressing of his own.

“It's a mess, don't you think?” Harry asks over the corpse of one of Voldemort's Death Eaters that didn't make it to the graveyard. Truthfully, he's already over it, either Remus will get back into their good graces or he won't, but Tonks already decided to keep the baby, and he doesn't think she's the kind of person that would forbid him from seeing his own son.

“Kreacher is believing it is all somehow nasty master's fault,” the house elf says with a serious expression as he spells the corpse's blood off the walls.

“I don't think Sirius knows how to go for what he wants anymore,” he muses out loud. “I mean, last time he did he went after Wormtail and ended up in Azkaban for a decade, stuff like that will make you doubt your judgment.”

Kreacher just grunts. “Disgraceful master never had any judgment to begin with.”

Harry snorts. “Never change, Kreacher.”

“Kreacher be staying Kreacher,” the house elf nods.

All in all, it's a decent end to a miserable day.

When they get back to Hogwarts, they find out that Umbridge has been named High Inquisitor, a position completely made up that gives her as much authority in the school as Dumbledore himself.

This manages to be surprising only because as far as he remembers, it was originally supposed to happen over two months ago. He'd avoided it by starting his long term plan to drive Umbridge around the bend, and he can't imagine what could've changed during the holidays to make Fudge react like this—maybe he's desperate that he's not finding out anything of use from his pink-clad spy, or maybe he's decided to cut his losses and get rid of Dumbledore by any means necessary.

Harry never had any illusions that the timeline would remain exactly the same after he came and changed it, even if he acted the exact same way he did before up until the last second before Draco was meant to take the dark mark things would change fundamentally.

He isn't the same person, not after all he's gone through, and neither are the people around him, even if they don't know it, Hermione's situation proved just that. In a level, he recognizes that not even Draco is the same as his Draco, but the two versions share a soul, he's sure of that, and that means that once he's immortal like Harry, he can find a way to bring his Draco forth, make a way for the two of them to coexist, become a single entity that Harry will love with every atom in his body.

“You're thinking something sappy, aren't you?” Pansy asks, pulling him out of his thoughts in the middle of dinner.

Harry doesn't even bother to come up with a lie. “Yup,” he says cheerily.

“Well, stop it. You look creepy,” she tells him sharply. “Also, it's definitely not the time.”

Harry blinks at her. “What, why?”

“Can you not read the room?” she hisses with a scowl, and it's only then that Harry realizes how solemn the whole Slytherin table is.

“Montague’s uncle went missing last week,” Draco tells him quietly, motioning with his eyes to an older student who is picking at his food.

There's something familiar about his dark eyes and aquiline nose, and it doesn't take a genius to realize that he's related to the Death Eater Harry killed during the break.

“He's not the only one, either,” Pansy adds. “A lot of parents of Slytherins have either died or gone missing over the last few years. I think half our year are orphans by now.”

He doesn't have to think hard about it to realize she's right. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco have all lost their fathers due to Harry's actions, direct or indirect as they may have been, and they're not the only ones.

“I mean, there's something besides being parents to Slytherins they all had in common, didn't they?” Harry asks, raising his left arm and showing the place where a dark mark would be if he was a Death Eater. “Don’t you think it could be related to that?”

“I'd rather not,” Pansy says through gritted teeth. “I don't want to think about someone going after my parents.”

Harry grimaces. “Sorry,” he says, even knowing it doesn't truly change anything. It's not like he'll spare them when the time comes, not if they're marked. He can't risk restarting the cycle of Voldemort dying and coming back.

“I'm not hungry anymore,” Draco says then, and Harry tries to put a comforting hand over his, but before he can do that, an obnoxious coughing noise comes from behind them.

“Miss Inquisitor,” Harry greets the pink toad neutrally, doing his best to avoid smiling as he sees the warts that have started adorning her complexion. “Can we help you?”

Umbridge narrows her eyes at him, and Harry can't help but notice the way her pupils have started to flatten, giving her an uncanny look.

“I hope you're aware that public displays of affection are forbidden on Hogwarts' grounds, Mr. Potter.”

“Are they, now?” he asks, looking into her eyes as he probes her mind with legilimency. I doubt you ever had to worry about that rule when you were a student. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Her face suddenly turns a bright red. “You… Detention, Mr. Potter!” she sneers, not even looking twice at the confused students around them.

“He didn't say anything…” someone whispers a couple of seats away, but by then Umbridge is already walking away, her nose high in the air as her heels click loudly against the stone floor.

“Weird,” Harry says out loud, ignoring the questioning eyes of Pansy and Draco.

“Legilimens !” Snape's voice thrums in his ears like an off-tune guitar, painting his mental advances on Harry with a layer of dark red rust.

It doesn't make the attack any less efficient, on the contrary, the pain it adds to his advance on Harry's mind makes it more difficult to focus on defending against it, but he's known for a while that the professors’ actual purpose wasn't really to teach Harry anything at all.

Snape runs through his mind like a kid with a hammer in a china shop, attempting to cause as much damage as his hands are capable of. If Harry didn't have years of experience defending against mental attacks during his time on the aurors, he'd probably have succeeded in that, but as it stands, the hammer Snape wields is as harmless as a pool noodle against bolted down concrete pieces.

It took him a while to realize back then, but after the revelation that he'd been raised like a pig to slaughter, it became obvious that rather than to teach Harry to protect his mind, his occluding lessons were more about tearing down his natural defenses in the hopes that Voldemort would use their link to his advantage, to lure Harry somewhere that would force a confrontation, something the order could use to put a dent on the Death Eaters’ ranks and prove the Dark Lord's return to the Ministry and the masses.

It had worked perfectly, and the only casualty had been Harry's only remaining family, his godfather, the only adult that truly gave a shit about Harry back then.

He can still remember the empty platitudes Dumbledore had laid at his feet after that, telling Harry to not let anger and grief consume him right before sending him packing back to the Dursleys for another year of abuse, and Oh, we have to redo the Fidelius in Grimmauld's Place and bond Kreacher to you, would you mind? Thanks, see you in two months when I'll need you again.

He thinks that's when he started seriously hating the Headmaster. When he realized he didn't see Harry as a real person with feelings, but as a means to an end. That's why the realization that he'd been meant to die all along didn't really come as a surprise, why he didn't even for a second found it hard to believe, why he walked into the Forest of Death without looking back once. A last performance from Dumbledore’s most precious puppet, right until they cut his strings and dropped him in the white King's Cross Station.

Snape is nothing if not another puppet of his as well, dancing to his tune even when he pretends he doesn't, his strings tied so tightly around his neck they might as well be a noose, but then again, sympathy is hard to come by when he knows he tied those strings himself, collected each one of them from the graves of all the death he caused as a Death Eater, the sharpest ones found at the feet of Harry's parents’ corpses.

But none of these thoughts are things he can let the man in front of him know about.

As far as he, Dumbledore, and Voldemort are concerned, Harry's never had any reason to occlude in his life. Hell, Dumbledore has read his mind multiple times in the past, and Harry has somehow managed to let him see only what he wants him to see. 

He can do that here, too.

He allows Snape to snoop through superficial parts of his mind without issue, he doesn't care if he sees his usual thoughts about Draco, those never change, and he knows the man won't care about his day to day goings or his friendships, no. He goes deeper, looking for the things Harry keeps hidden, the things he knows will hurt him the most, and that's exactly what Harry lets him see.

He lets Snape pass through the front door of number four, Privet Drive. Lets him watch as Vernon screams at him, lets him watch Harry try to escape from Dudley and his friends, lets him watch as he covers his head to protect himself from Aunt Petunia and her broom. Then, and only then, he pushes him out of his mind, his panted breaths only half a performance.

“That was pathetic,” Snape spits venomously, unaffected by the scenes he just watched. “Were you even trying!?”

“I was,” Harry responds with a scowl. “I need a little more than ‘clear your mind!’”

“Mere excuses,” Snape exclaims. “Brace yourself again, empty your mind of all thoughts. Legilimens!”

Truth is, Harry's never been able to completely empty his mind. He feels like there's always a million thoughts running through it these days.

He much prefers his own method, filling his head with so many meaningless memories the attacker doesn't know what to look at. He doesn't try this with Snape, though, he simply repeats his earlier actions, letting him see the horrors that were his childhood with the Dursleys, and pushing him away at the last second just to see a glint of amusement in the professor's eyes.

“Again,” Snape repeats, and before Harry can even regain his breath, the attack begins again.

But Harry is getting tired of it already. This time, when the professor crosses the threshold of Privet Drive number 4, he pays extra attention to a specific detail, something he'd kept hidden before.

The cupboard under the stairs.

He feels the exact moment Snape finds it, the way he viciously locks in on it, and only pretends to struggle to keep it closed for a few seconds before letting him in. He waits until the professor is fully immersed in the darkness of the small room, and then, without so much as a click, he closes the door behind him.

In the real world, Snape's body falls to the ground like a ragdoll.

There's no leaving the cupboard without someone opening from the outside. Not this one. Harry had eventually learned to pick the lock and sneak out to steal food from the fridge, but in his mind, there is no lock. Snape will be trapped for as long as Harry keeps that door closed. 

He will feel the same hunger, the same fear, the same helplessness Harry felt whenever he was locked in it, and just like Harry, there will be nothing he can do about it.

He watches Snape's body impassively, nudging him with his foot to make sure he's out. Their connection is almost imperceptible, but Harry makes sure to keep it steady as he walks around the potion master's office.

Cauldrons bubble in the background and books shiver when Harry runs his fingers over the small bookcase. It's been a while since he's been here. He spent a good amount of time just sitting in this place after the war was over.

Even after briefly becoming headmaster, Snape had kept this place as his sanctuary, so McGonagall had been reluctant to change anything about it before speaking with Harry.

Why him?

“You were the closest to him.”

Harry had to fight back the urge to snort.

“You were also one of the persons he victimized the most.”

Now that was more believable.

In the present, Harry shakes his head. He'd given it all to his Draco, never asking about them to him. 

Maybe that'd been a mistake.

He could feel it in this Draco too, the need to keep things close to his chest, but if he had bothered to ask about it he would've been able to help his Draco when he felt hopeless about his dark mark. Maybe they would've been able to find together what he couldn't find alone.

He picks up a book. The magic of sacrifice , reads the title on the cover, and underneath it Understanding Equivalent Exchange.

He puts the book in his pocket and looks at the clock on the wall.

Enough time has passed.

He opens the door of the cupboard, lets Severus fall back onto his own mind, fully unconscious and shaking on the ground, before leaving.

He doesn't feel like playing with his food anymore.

Umbridge’s body isn't found until a week after her death, when two students stumble on it while they're out of the castle after curfew. She’d fallen into the Black Lake, didn't know how to swim.

Harry still had to serve that one detention.

Tragic.