#interhouse unity

The year is 1999, and for the Christmas Ball (which theme is #InterHouseUnity), every students is requested to forget about their own house colours in favour of any of the remaining other three houses’ colours.

With the interest of interhouse unity in mind Headmistress McGonagal and the rest of the teaching staff have put together an unique event for Harry's eighth year at Hogwarts. Masquarade balls have been scheduled one a month every month for the entire year for the returning 6th, 7th, and 8th years. Attendance to be mandatory. Formal attire is required, and the masks are provided by the staff and are charmed to glamour ones hair and voice to be unrecognizable to those around you. You are not allowed to say your name, or give away any details about yourself that could give away who you are to the people you talk to. The point, after all, is to get to know people outside the prejudices of the past.

From the very first Ball, Harry finds himself drawn to a lone figure not really mingling with the crowds and makes it a point to go over and say hi. He doesn't recognize the person, obviously, but as the two ease into a comfortable banter, Harry can't shake the idea that this person seems so familiar to him. Even if he's certain he has never talked with whoever they are like this before.

As the months move forward and the balls continue, despite the glamours on the mask changing each time, Harry finds himself able to seek out the company of this person again and again. Soon he manages to come to the realization the he just might be starting to fall for this person, and hard.

Eighth-year Hermione proposed an Enchanted Garden prom idea she learned from muggles. “We could plan it with muggleborns and halfbloods pairing off with purebloods, build unity.”

Before McGonagall could respond, Ginny sent a bat-boogey hex. “Oi, that means you can attend with Ron, but I can’t with Luna. Not fair.”

Harry cut in before any more curses could fly. “I think it’s a good idea to have us work together, but we should be able to attend with whoever we want. Right, Draco?”

The blonde’s head snapped up, face going white then red as he cleared his throat repeatedly, “Y-yes.”

Sorry, this has been sitting in my ask box for so long. I wasn’t ready to write it yet? It got really long. Here’s part one. Part two ASAP.  A quick note about this fic: my school ACTUALLY did this. In grade 10 , you could pay a dollar, fill in the Match-O-Matic survey and find your SOUL MATE (within our 1200 person student body, guaranteed). I found mine about a year ago in a box at my parent’s house. My top two matches? The only openly gay boy in my year, and my ex-boyfriend, who’d broken up with me the day before Christmas. LOVE-O-MATIC!  😂

Professor Moneyworth’s Love-O-Matic Matches

All the love, none of the hassle of first dates. Your matches have arrived!

It had all started as a not-very-funny joke. The pamphlets had all arrived on the same day, flooding down at breakfast from the morning owls like brightly coloured confetti. They’d made everyone laugh at the absurdity of the message. Yet, like some sort of creeping infectious trend, the survey’s slowly crept in. There was no telling who had started it, who sent the survey back first, but once it had started it was hard to stop. Soon, the Professor’s promised pairings became an unstoppable fad. It made sense when you thought about it. No one really believed that love could be as simple as a survey, but it was also true that no one wanted to be the only person who didn’t get matched.

Results were a closely guarded secret, squirrelled away at the bottom of locked chests or smuggled out of breakfast in secret pockets. Shoved beneath charmed pillows so that no one would ask questions. It was possible the secrets would start getting to everyone eventually, but for now, the attitude in the close-knit halls was simply extra jovial, maybe a little flirtier than normal. For now, it brings a little lightness to the eighth year dorms, the type that had been missing for the first two months of school.

November had always been cold and grey, but the darkness seemed to permeate every nook of the grounds earlier than normal this year, and Harry was morose—though even he had to admit it was getting a little old.

He held the large, pink envelope in both his hands as he stared at the rough surface of the lake. He’d been hoping that filling it out, getting his own love matches would be humorous enough to filter out his sadness, his fear. It hadn’t worked so far. Mostly because he already knew what he wanted.

No. Scratch that. He knew who he wanted.

He just didn’t know how to mesh that information with who he was, what his responsibilities to the New World Order were. He didn’t know how to match himself to that; how did he explain to other people that he was fixated on a former master of the death at Hogwarts. How did he explain this to Hermione? He’d plotted out many starts to the conversation in his mind. He never got much past the first sentence.

Hey, Hermione, have you ever noticed that Draco’s got really nice forearms? Because when I was rebuilding the east wall the other day, I noticed, and now I keep dreaming about— Hermione, I know that you’ll understand this, what with Ron working back in London and you all the way up here, and since I’ve been so lonely I’ve started talking to—

I told you last summer that I was gay and you were so cool about that that I figured I could let you know that I’m hopelessly attracted to a Death Eater and—

Hermione, I’d really like it if Draco Malfoy would fuck me into a wall and then buy me dinner. Cool?

He shook his head at his own imaginings and chastised himself for being a giant, dramatic bitch. He tore open the envelope and let his eyes wander the pink, frilly page it contained.

He’s beautiful, standing between Harry and the window, the low evening sun shining behind him and giving him a halo of floating particles. For a moment, he seems imaginary, elusive, like light. Then his eyes meet Harry’s as he finishes buttoning his shirt and the corner of his lip turns up.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look,” he says, eyes fixed on him, and Harry’s heart stutters. “I almost want you to stay like this, not wear clothes ever again.”

There’s people outside the room. Harry can hear them, but it’s as if they don’t exist. Draco’s voice is the only thing his consciousness latches onto.

“Unfortunately, we’re already late for dinner,” Draco continues. Harry’s eyes follow his movements as he bends down to pick up a white shirt. He motions at Harry to sit up, and he does, sliding closer to him on the bed, until he has him standing between his legs. He helps Harry slide his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, and buttons it as he speaks. “Someday, though, when we’re out of here, I’ll have you all for myself, and we won’t have to wear clothes at all if we don’t want to.”

Harry can imagine it. Both of them out of Hogwarts, spending their nights together and finally being able to sleep in. Not having to be a secret.

He smiles. “Is that a threat, mister Malfoy?”

“A promise, mister Potter.”

Draco picks up a tie and wraps it around Harry’s neck, he begins to tie it with the easy confidence that comes from performing a well practiced motion. His pale eyebrows are furrowed as if in concentration, but Harry knows he could tie a windsor in his sleep. He bites down a smile.

“Mister Malfoy?” He sing-songs.

“Yes, mister Potter?”

“That’s the wrong tie.”

He doesn’t get an immediate reply, but he sees Draco’s smile widen as he finishes the knot. Once it’s done, he wraps his fingers around the green silk carefully and pulls, bringing Harry up. Grey looks into green, smug, playful.

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” His hands come to Harry’s face and straighten his glasses.

“Unless you’re calling me a snake, I believe my tie is over there,” he points at his desk with a finger, where he can see red and yellow spread on the backrest of his chair.

“I’m not calling you a snake,” the smile is evident in Draco’s voice, a glint in his eyes betrays excitement. “What would your friends say if you walked into the Great Hall like this? If they knew you’re mine?”

The words travel down Harry’s body, straight to a recently fulfilled part of him, that nevertheless recognizes the attractive promise in Draco’s elegant voice. “They would think something’s going on between us.”

“Yeah. They would.”

He stands there against the light, an angel, ethereal, and until very recently, untouchable.

Harry wants him. He wants to wear his colors, he wants the world to know he would do anything to keep him smiling like that.

“You wear mine,” he whispers. Draco’s grin transforms his teasing expression into one of triumph.

“Deal.”

To hell with the consequences. He’s Draco’s. It’s time for the world to know.

-

Aesthetic ~ Gryffindor x Ravenclaw Couple

@quicksilvermaid since things have been so hectic for you the past few days I figured I would be Chaotic Good and give you a small sneak peak 😘 I’m not sure if I’m being really nice or really mean cause it’s going to be a while before I actually start the whole thing

__________________________________________

Harry could feel his nerves humming with magic, a giddy excitement rushing through him so quickly he had to crunch his toes in his trainers to keep from bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’d been waiting all week to see Malfoy perform again. It was becoming an intoxicating habit, watching him there on the stage. The way he moved. The way he looked. Harry hated it but he couldn’t get enough. Never knowing what song Malfoy would perform only added to the gleeful anticipation.

As the lights dimmed, he took a seat at one of the small tables littering the great hall. If it just so happened to be incredibly close to the ‘stage’ well, Harry pretended not to notice.

“Good evening sports fans,” Dean’s milk and honey voice poured through the great hall as he swaggered onto center stage.

“In the spirit of inter-house unity, we once again have the great hall to ourselves for a little bit of recreational,” Dean chuckled, a wolfish grin stretching slowly across his face “pleasure.” He winked at the audience, pulling out a cue card and glancing at it for a brief moment. “Up first we have Draco Malfoy, performing-” Dean’s smile only increased, like he knew something the audience didn’t. It left Harry on edge. “Something extra special for you tonight.” What trick could Malfoy be pulling out his sleeve now? He already had nearly half the school eating out the palm of his hands, including Harry.

Still, as the spotlight faded from a pale yellow to a dusky purple, he played into the drama of the moment and clapped enthusiastically with the rest of them as he watched Dean saunter off stage. As Dean took his seat beside Seamus a slow, haunting guitar melody began to play.

Harry sat captivated as he watched Malfoy slink up to the stage, his hips swaying languidly in time with the eerie guitar solo until he was on the stage looking like sin incarnate. “Merlin,” Harry whispered, drinking in the sight of Malfoy’s purple leather trousers that looked painted on and mentally counting how many buttons were undone on his ruffled collar shirt. He watched as Malfoy grabbed the mic, bringing it close to his plush pink lips and letting out a low, breathy exhale, eyelids drifting shut.

Music aside, the great hall was silent, the entire student body watching on bated breath as Malfoy opened his mouth and sung:

“I knew a girl named Nikki I guess you could say she was a sex fiend,

I met her in a hotel lobby masturbating with a magazine,

She said how'd you like to waste some time and I could not resist when I saw little Nikki grind.” Malfoy grabbed the microphone, rolling his hips slowly over the length of the mic stand as he sang. It was melodic. Harry felt a blush creeping across his face as he watched Malfoy roll his hips over the mic stand before snapping his hips forward to the beat.

“She took me to her castle and I just couldn't believe my eyes,

She had so many devices everything that money could buy,

She said "sign your name on the dotted line." The lights went out and Nikki started to grind.” Malfoy took the mic out of the stand, roaming across the stage as his words poured out of him. His free hand slid down his body, running over the barely there tracing of his curves, up his crotch, over his stomach, his hand slipping into his shirt and ghosting over his chest as he let out a high pitched whine.