Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took.
But past an hour - the prospect's black
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It was the morning of the Triwizard Tournament's second task and though Harry obsessively checked, he couldn't find what had gone missing. Everything was in place, nothing he cared about was absent. His invisibility cloak, his firebolt, … What else could it have been? As Ron dragged him downstairs to eat, claiming that he was starving, Harry's mind raced in circles.

Breakfast came with Malfoy's highly suspicious absence. Harry noticed it immediately. His senses were attuned to finding the stinky wanker with his hair white as snow, his eyes silver as his rings and his soul as black as the Slytherin common room - Harry always kept an eye out for him. You had to be aware of your enemies at all times, and after three school years of almost dying over and over again, Harry was essentially an expert. especially when it came to watching Malfoy. 

What was that git up to now? Probably trying to manipulate the outcome of the task, the sneaky bastard. Of course he would do something like that. Wouldn't want Potter to win. What a tragedy it would be if the first tournament in years upon years were to be won by an orphan halfblood who hadn't even known about it before this whole mess had started. Malfoy was rooting for Cedric, rooting for a Hufflepuff because even a pathetic, little Hufflepuff would be a more desirable winner than Saint Potter. If Harry were to win, Malfoy would probably swoon like a Victorian maiden (Oh how Harry would enjoy the sight of that. It would almost be more exciting than winning.)

Harry’s angry internal musing was interrupted by the murmurs of the other participants. A nervous energy hung about them, getting increasingly more agitated as they buzzed from one person to the other, fluttering about the Great Hall. Krum asking about Hermione, Fleur desperately looking for Gabrielle, Cedric almost frantic in his search for Cho.

Huh? They were absent? Harry’s eyes scanned the room - no Hermione, no Gabrielle, no Cho. Strange. He hadn't noticed. 

And why were they gone? Malfoy's absence made sense after all. He was always meddling. Always sticking his abnormally pointy nose into things that were not his business whatsoever with that smug little smirk on his even pointier face. Always up to something. Always in need of observation lest he did something nefarious. 

Hermione, Gabriella and Cho were not like that though. Hermione might just have gone to the library. She could be found there at virtually any time of the day, studying for exams, studying for classes, studying for relaxation, studying probably just to drive Harry and Ron insane. Gabrielle was a sweet girl, quiet, fading into the background and watching her sister in awe. She would not run off, not with how attached she was to Fleur. Cho too was harmless.

Were they the treasures? What You'll Sorely Miss. Krum would miss Hermione. She was his closest friend at Hogwarts, had gone to the Yule Ball with him, … Maybe more than a friend? Did he like her? Like like her? Harry shuddered. He did not approve of the thing they had going on in any way. The age difference… 

He shook his head to get rid of the thought. No time to dwell on things he had no control over. Figuring out who his person was was more immediately important than debating whether Hermione's relationship with Krum was morally justifiable. 

So who could Harry's treasure be?

A friend? But Ron was here, sitting next to him and stuffing his face with ungodly amounts of food. Right. Not him then. Not Hermione because she was already someone else's. Neville, Dean, Seamus, Hagrid, … Harry loved them but probably not enough for either of them to be counted as his most precious person.

A sibling? Harry had none other than the Weasleys, and all of them were accounted for - Ron next to him, Ginny sitting with Fred and George, engaged in animated conversation possibly about blowing something up. At least the ones at Hogwarts were all where they should be, and they were the ones Harry was closest to anyway. It could only be someone at Hogwarts, no? So Remus, Sirius and Dobby were out too. No one he considered family was his treasure then. 

A lover? Point-blank, Harry didn't have one. He had a crush on Cho, sure, but that was only a crush, and she belonged to Cedric. It couldn't have been a past lover either, for Harry was about as chronically single as the Whomping Willow. The thought was slightly depressing, if he was being honest. Worse yet, it left him with no clue as to who his person could be.

Who else would he jump into an icy lake for? Who else would he eat gillyweed for? Who else would he risk his life for in a tournament designed to test your skill and kill you if you were not good enough? Who else did Harry love?

He couldn't figure it out and it was driving him crazy. Eating felt difficult with the weight of his ignorance resting heavily on him like a stone tied to his waist that might drag him to the bottom of the Black Lake and to eternal doom. What if figuring it out was essential to finding and saving them? What if he couldn’t? Would they die? The clue had indicated as much. To imagine someone dying because of him - again - was unbearable. His parents had, and now another person he would sorely miss might too? 

Even with Ron's urging, - “You've got to eat, mate. This is like your first Quidditch game all over again.” - the food tasted like ash in his mouth. Nauseous and cold, he could barely focus on anything other than his mind racing with unbearable worry. Who else could it be?

Way too soon breakfast ended and the task was just minutes ahead of him. His dread had grown teeth, sharp and biting as they tore into his body, his mind, his heart, his soul. He got dressed, prepared his gillyweed, thought,  thought, thought.

Who else, who else, who else? He didn't know.

Chapter Text

The stands were filled to the brim with people eager to see four students complete the task or die trying. It was loud and busy as people placed bets, argued about their favourite champions and waved banners, the expectations of a nation condensed into a group of roughly five-hundred people.

Harry's eyes flickered over the crowd. A flicker of white hair - Lucius Malfoy with his usual sneer and the unpleasant aura of a man proficient in the Dark Arts. The younger Malfoy was still nowhere in sight. Harry's stomach churned at his absence. What could he have been up to that would take so long? Destabilizing the stands? Putting poison in the lake? Hexing the contestants? Malfoy's presence was always disconcerting enough, but his absence… 

The chill of February and his trepidation reminded Harry of the uncanny presence of Dementors. There were none, but he might just have preferred them to the unknown ahead of him. A Dementor he could fight, hundreds of them he could get rid of in the blink of an eye. In this novel situation, though, none of his skills were useful. He felt wholly unprepared and way too young. What if he got the person killed? He couldn't do this.

The cannon sounded, sealing his fate. Suddenly, it didn't matter what he could or couldn't do. There was no couldn't, there was no trying. He would have to do it. He would do it. He had no choice. His treasure depended on him. Determination overtook his dread. Focus.

He swallowed the gillyweed and dove in with a mighty splash, gills sprouting from his neck, webs between his fingers and toes. He became a creature of the water with a single-minded focus on finding his person. 

The lake seemed deserted, though Harry knew the other champions were in it. Somewhere there were the people they had to save, merpeople, the giant squid, probably some fish. But he saw nothing other than dark, endless water and twisting, green algae. It was uncanny in its stillness, eerie. 

Harry didn't notice. Something inside him was telling him where to go. Pulling, pulling, pulling him like there was a string attached to his very soul. It could have been a trap. It could have been a diversion. Following it could have been exactly the opposite of what he should have been doing. 

He followed it anyway. He somehow knew that it would lead him right where he had to go. Call it stupidity or bravery or fate, but he had absolute faith in whatever was guiding him, whoever was guiding him. 

The pull was soon joined by a sound, a voice. Low. Haunting. A mirror of the lake's atmosphere. It was singing the song. The clue. And it grew louder as Harry followed the sensation inside. Louder and clearer just like the insistent calling. He was getting close.

He was coming. He was hearing and feeling, and he was coming. Distantly, he hoped the person knew. He was coming and they just had to wait for him. He would be there. He would find them. They wouldn't have to fear. He would be there.

Harry neared a clearing with only scarce algae. Merpeople hovered all over, unmoving and watching. Their sharp gazes pierced him as they trained their tridents on him in warning. In their midst, four other figures floated, tied up and looking unconscious - The people they had to save.

Hermione, Gabrielle, Cho, Malfoy.

Wait.

Harry froze, body stilling as though he had been hit by a petrificus totalus. What. What. Malfoy? Draco Lucius Malfoy? What? Why would Malfoy be here? Why would he be someone's treasure? Whose treasure would he be? Who loved Malfoy like that?

Intrigued, Harry swam closer. He ignored the merpeople and the other tied up students. The pull was still there and it was dragging him forward until he could see Malfoy clearly. A weak beam of light hit him just right so he looked as though illuminated. His hair floated around him, white and shining like a halo in the green-blue of the water. With his pale skin, he glowed like a beacon. Like the beacon that had called Harry and had led him through the lake.

Oh. 

He was here for him. Malfoy was his person. Malfoy was the person he would sorely miss.

No. That couldn't have been right. Harry did not care for Malfoy. In fact, he couldn't have cared less if he had vanished. In fact, good riddance. Malfoy had always been a nuisance, an infuriating, attention-seeking nuisance. From day one, they had been nothing but enemies. Countless fights and arguments, three and a half years of rivalry.  Harry couldn't stand Malfoy.

But oh, he was beautiful. Unconscious, there was no disdainful sneer or spiteful smirk on his lips, no spiteful word or insult on his tongue. He looked soft and sweet, like a nice boy you would want to be friends with and your parents would approve of. Distantly, Harry wondered whether the real Draco was like that, whether all he had seen of him so far had been a mask created to fit into pureblood society and please his family.

It hit Harry suddenly that Malfoy barely resembled his father. Sure, they had both had white-blonde hair and grey eyes, but that was where their similarities ended. His face was all his mother. His features had a gentle softness to them, even where his good breeding gave him the sharpness of an aristocrat, like a flower covered in a layer of frost. Harry couldn't believe he had ever referred to Malfoy as pointy when truly he was ethereal. 

Beautiful. His. 

Oh.

Harry snapped out of it. Hermione and Cho were gone. He had completely missed the other champions, so focused on Draco that nothing else had mattered. How much time had passed, how much time had he spent staring at him?

He checked his watch. Shit. There were only five minutes left to get to the surface. 

Quickly, Harry freed Draco, wrapping his arm around him securely. Draco's body felt solid in his hold, real. They had never touched like this before. There had only ever been fleeting touches as part of their more physical altercations, punches, slaps. This however was protective and secure as Harry tried to keep him close and safe.

As he started to swim up, his focus drifted for a second and settled on the last person still tied up. Gabrielle was still there. Fleur hadn't come. She had failed the task, and Gabrielle would die for it. Sweet, young Gabrielle who had been chosen without her consent to prove another witch's worth. Just like Draco, Hermione and Cho. Harry burned with anger at the thought and freed her too.

Three minutes. With two people in his arms, both dead weight, swimming to the surface was much harder. The gillyweed was wearing off, and Harry was growing tired. He ignored it. He couldn't pay attention to it. If he did, two innocent people would die because of him. 

The surface seemed endlessly far and unreachable. Focus. Harry's eyes locked onto Draco's limp form. For him. He could do this for him. He still didn't understand, couldn't fathom how the spell had thought Draco was his most important person. He would think about it later, but for now he didn't care. Draco's safety was all that mattered. 

That gave Harry the push he needed and he breached the surface just as the clock struck the hour. He had made it. 

In his arms, Draco and Gabrielle came awake. An intake of breath, a fluttering of eyelashes, one grey and one blue gaze finding him. Someone jumped into the water to take the French girl to the platform. Harry didn't care. He was once again focused solely on Draco.

Draco was staring at him. Wet and gasping, out of it from being held unconscious by a spell, Draco looked so unlike himself still, just a boy confused about how he had ended up where he was. His wet hair hung limply into his wide, glassy eyes. 

“Harry,” he murmured. Instead of his usual Potter, snapped with a sharp, aristocratic lilt and an infuriating popping of the p, his voice was soft with the smallest hint of a French accent. Together with his focused gaze, he seemed trusting as though being in Harry's arms was the safest he had ever felt.

“Draco,” he answered like the name was a prayer and he a most adoring devotee. He really needed to think after this… But for now, it didn't matter why or how. All that mattered was Draco in his arms, the two of them gazing at each other without hatred for the first time. It was an entirely new experience for Harry, one that had his insides squirming and his soul singing this, this, yes, him, us.

It ended much too soon when the noises of the crowd became audible to Harry as his previous intense focus broke. Hundreds of voices excitedly shouted and cheered, interrupted by cries of confusion at the sight of Draco Malfoy in Harry Potter's arms. Harry cringed. Great. People would love this.

Just then, Draco became fully aware of the situation. The water, the people, Harry. He noticed it all and his eyes widened even more, his previous facial expression of trust breaking with it. He flinched, squeaked. His eyes darted to and fro, frantic, panicked. Fear. Draco's hands clawed at Harry like a cat scrambling up a tree. “Potter?!”

His panic became more and more clear, breathing picking up, his movements getting wilder and wilder as though he was trying to escape. From Harry? From the water? From the hundreds of eyes staring at them intently? From the situation as a whole? In any case, his movements were about to drown them.

“Draco, hey, hey. It's okay. Calm down.” Harry tried to keep his voice calm as he carefully maneuvered against Draco's thrashing. Slowly, he moved them towards the stands as Draco grew ever more agitated. Shit. “You're fine. You're okay.” He shushed him softly.

Finally, Harry pulled them up onto the platform. They were immediately crowded by people bringing towels. Madam Pomfrey descended upon Draco, wand swishing with spells as she took his vitals. Like a frazzled mother-hen, she fluttered about and murmured about putting students in danger so carelessly. She did not approve of the tournament - Harry could understand this now better than ever - and she was unafraid of making her displeasure known. 

In the meantime, Draco's panic had not subsided. If anything, it had grown teeth. His usual entitled attitude had returned as he sneered at anyone in his vicinity. He tore away from Harry as though stung. Having seen him sweet and trusting, though, Harry couldn't help but be reminded of a scared, abused dog lashing out because it didn't know better, and years of seeing Draco’s behaviour suddenly took on a new perspective.

Having been shoved away by Draco, - Harry was determined not to feel anything about it - all he could do was stand and stare, watching the boy and how Madam Pomfrey was treating him. No matter what he said, no matter how many times he snarled, “My father will hear about this,” she didn't admonish him. Her understanding seemed to calm him, for soon he let himself be led away, to the Hospital Wing no doubt.

As Draco left, all Harry could do was stare after him. He did not care for the people asking him questions, wanting an interview. He just stood there, frozen and confused.

Chapter Text

As Draco vanished from view, Harry snapped out of it, though his mind was still racing faster than his firebolt. He was confused. Extremely Confused. The kind of confused you were upon discovering that you were apparently very gay for your rival in the middle of a deadly task in a lethal tournament at a random point in time during your education.

Oh the joys of being Harry James Potter.

The people around him seemed even more confused and very eager to dig for answers. Hermione and Ron - Where had he come from? Since when had he been here? Why was he here? - were swarming him like overeager nifflers throwing themselves at a piece of gold.

Hermione, ever logical, was ranting in that half-crazed manner of hers. She was clearly ready to spend the rest of the day in the library trying to figure out “why the spell would ever think that Malfoy would be your treasure? Everyone knows that you hate each other. He tried to hex you recently! He has nearly gotten you killed multiple times! Oh, something must have gone wrong. I'm sure there must be information on the spell!” Her rushed words sped up more as she continued to ramble to herself.

Ron took this as his opportunity to exclaim, “Honestly, Harry, why didn't you just leave him down there? We'd be better off without that ferret.” He looked like saving Draco had been a grave affront upon his entire family, their belongings and the gnomes in their garden.

It made Harry shudder - Had he been like that too? Would he too have believed that Draco would be better off drowning in the lake? They had always been rivals but surely there hadn't been any hatred between them? Harry couldn't imagine ever hurting Draco, and much less Draco hurting him. A tiny jinx? Yes. Something that could lead to death? Never.

Only nightmares brought such scenarios. A dream of a bathroom. Spells thrown. Water on the floor. Blood. Draco's body, panting, torn open, red. Harry helpless on his knees next to him. That dream had come to him months ago, had awoken him with tears in his eyes and fear in his heart. But it had only been a dream. They would never do that to each other. They wouldn't. They couldn't.

Harry extracted himself from his thoughts, then from the grasps of his friends and made a run for the boats. Waiting for the scores to be announced couldn't have been farther from his mind, and staying here would do him no good anyway. It was too crowded, too loud, too unsafe. With all these people, with Skeeter leering at him, ready to spread gossip, he couldn't open that door.

And there was a door. Intricate, carved with stories, the door of a wardrobe that held more than just coats. Opening it would bring him to a foreign, possibly hostile land, but wasn't it better to touch the ice than to never know the spring discovery might bring?

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Clothes still waterlogged and dripping, he raced across the grounds, through the hallways, up and up and up, following the pull inside him. For a moment, he couldn't care about the barely cracked door inside himself that was just waiting for him to realise, to understand. All he could care about was the boy he had pulled out of the lake.

He had been so terrified. Eyes wide, shaking, hyperventilating, yet momentarily trusting too.

Would he be mad at Harry for getting him into that situation? Would he be mad at Harry for how he had looked at him in that moment? Would the thing between them - whatever it may have been - be over now? Would they be nothing? No rivals, no friends, nothing but classmates?

Or would they be more? Would they lay aside their petty, useless, stupid rivalry and discover who they could be if they stopped caring what other people thought? Though Harry had only realised that such a thing could be possible barely a few minutes ago, it seemed like the only thing in the world that could ever possibly make sense.

No more Potter and Malfoy, just Harry and Draco, just them.

He arrived at the grand door of the Hospital Wing. Draco was currently leaving, looking grumpy and rumpled, his hair puffy from drying charms, but not wet or scared anymore. Harry imagined that this was probably what Draco looked like in the morning before he got the chance to make himself look presentable, before he was even awake enough to care. Harry's heart clenched with longing, a desperate need to see him like that one day.

Their eyes locked and both of them froze in tandem. Moments passed as they studied each other as though for the first time truly taking it all in. Harry catalogued the exact shade of Draco's eyes - such inconceivably silver-blue eyes that were staring back at him unblinkingly. He could have looked into those eyes endlessly, even if the world burned down around them or the tides pulled them under. They held something magnetic, electric, something inexplicable in the way it tugged at Harry's heart and soul, and made him ready to complete any impossible feat just to keep them on him.

But it was impossible indeed. Draco focused on him intently for a moment before walking past him like they really were nothing after all. Not even Harry's calls of his name, insistent as they were, stopped him even minutely in his tracks, and Harry was, a second time today, left behind by the one person he would most sorely miss.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Harry settled into an alcove in an unused corridor. No one ever went there because the rooms connected to it were not in use anymore. They held aged furniture covered in scribbles of students long gone, not usable for their wear and tear but holding too many reminders of past generations of wix for anyone to get rid of them. In any case, Hogwarts was big enough to harbour them and so they stayed, unseen by most, except for those who explicitly longed for the stillness their sacred tomb offered.

It had become Harry's go-to place when he wanted to think and not be interrupted under any circumstances. He had so thoroughly established it as his that he had brought a pillow and blanket there months back, and the house elves left him biscuits to snack on. The walls held his scribbles too - wobbly sketches of Hedwig, for he had never been good at drawing but loved it anyway and wanted her immortalised in this hidden place of memories.

For him, this was safety. Though he loved his friends, loved company and being surrounded by people, ten years of solidarity had taught him to be alone but not lonely. Now that it was his choice whether he wanted to be on his own, he enjoyed having time to himself. It wasn't a punishment any longer but comfort. You could learn a lot by sitting with yourself and just thinking.

Such was his purpose today: solidarity to think. His brain felt like a rambunctious combination of a volcano, an earthquake and a tsunami all occurring at once. Nothing had prepared him for today's realisation. He had not even seen it as a possibility. His upbringing had left him largely isolated from anything that was not the picture-perfect family the Dursleys portrayed themselves as. Alternatives had not been within his sights, and even his thoughts had barely scratched the surface of what was apparently possible.

Now, with his newest discovery as a flaming torch to light his path, he made a trip through his memories on a quest to find himself.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The first memory of significance he found was in nursery school. Young Harry had been sent there as was expected of a child his age - that age being four - to begin his education, but also so that the Dursleys would be rid of him for a few hours every day (the happiness about this had been very much mutual).

Instead of being carefully introduced to the new environment and situation, they had thrown him into it like a mother duck might with her ducklings - swim or drown. This was the way most things happened. Another child might have sunk, many times before this even, but especially that day. The past three years, however, had made Harry proficient in being alone and surviving anyway.

As such, young Harry was eager to make his first ever friend. While locked up in his cupboard, he had often heard Dudley playing with other children his age or speaking of friends. The concept delighted Harry - people his age to play with, who would not hit him for being a freak or stupid? - and his determination was strong as he ran about, asking others whether they wanted to be his friend.

Rejections, even though there were many, didn't deter him. He would find the right person. He knew there was someone just like him out there, someone who was a freak and would love him for being one too. He knew it, despite the fact that he had never been proven right so far.

Then he saw him.

On the swing-set, there sat a boy all on his own. Brown hair, hazel eyes, hand-me-down clothes, quiet. Harry knew from that very moment that he had to befriend him. He approached with more confidence than he felt, hand ready for a shake. “Hi, I'm Harry. Do you want to be my friend?”

"Yes."

And the rest was history. They became inseparable immediately. The outsiders, the freaks, the ones wearing their older family member's worn-out clothes. Neither cared because they had each other. In hours upon hours of play, they learnt who they were with a person who allowed them to be themselves.

They were best friends, and for years, the boy from the playground - that shy boy named Alexander - was the most important person in Harry's life. Every moment at nursery school was spent together, every moment in 4 Privet Drive was spent longing for more time with the other.

The day before they started primary school, Harry declared that when he was older, he would marry Alex. He loved him and felt that no one could ever compare.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

That had been the last they ever saw each other, separated into different schools, never to speak again. Now that he allowed himself to think about it, Harry had never truly got over him. His first friend, his first love. He mourned the loss acutely in this moment, knowing that they had only had two years and would never get more. Alexander was forever lost to him, the probability of ever even being in the same place as nonexistent as any shared future he had ever imagined for them.

With the understanding of how he had felt for him, though, he could now too grasp what other people had been to him. Charlie, Bill, Cedric, Cho, people he had only seen in passing but had felt enamoured by anyway. Fourteen years of looking at people - Did gender even matter to him? He only cared for who someone was, he thought - and only now realising that he had felt something there.

A crush.

A love.

Draco.

Meeting him at Madam Malkin's, a snotty, pointy boy, proud to be a wizard, prouder yet of his family name and of what it meant. He may not have been kind, but even then there had been something about him that had pulled Harry in - even as he insulted Ron, insulted Hermione, was mean and coarse and unrefined.

Was it the challenge he offered in every sneered insult? Was it his attention that Harry held at all times? Was it the way his eyes spoke of everything he could be, everything he was when he was not hiding himself from view?

Harry had seen it now, a glimpse of the real Draco, so true and dear and sweet, and what had been there burned brighter now. He had always been obsessed with Draco Malfoy. His friends had warned him, had pointed it out so often that the words played like a mantra in his head. He couldn't help it, no matter how hard he tried.

He had been bound to Draco since their very first meeting, and he just hoped that nothing had torn the red string between their hearts.