warmerthanhotcoco

I fell in love with your smile. Once, twice. I never fell for this man behind a Death Eater's mask.

How dare you make me fall for you? How dare you make me dream of you? 

How dare you give me hope?

Harry found himself screaming himself and the rest of Grimmauld Place awake yet again with another nightmare.

"Mate, you alright?" Ron sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair as he ran his eyes up and down Harry as if checking for blood. "Is it the scar?"

"I..." Harry frowned. No, it wasn't the scar. Unlike everybody assumed, his nightmares weren't always Voldemort; nor were they always losing Sirius and Cedric either. 

It was a certain arch-nemesis. Not him dying, but him killing Harry with his own hands, like he claimed he would oh so happily do.

Would he, really? Would Malfoy actually kill him?

... Harry knew the answer. And it hurt.

"Yes. Yes, the bloody scar," Harry lied, wincing. "The pain’s fading, I'll be okay. Go back to sleep."

Several months later, Harry found himself storming into the Breakfast Hall after another nightmare. Last night had been a ruthless mess in his head, one he hadn’t been prepared for.

✦✧ ★ ☆ ✶✡︎✦✧ ★ ☆ ✶✡︎ (the nightmare)

It had started with the night at the graveyard in fourth year. Except everything went in reverse. Harry was shoved against the Riddle gravestone, Cruciatus curses had flown around the graveyard freely. 

“Kill the spare.” Cedric had been thrown aside like he was nothing. 

“Good luck,” he had wished Cedric silently. Cedric had nodded back.

Everyone cheered when Harry broke through the surface. He had found himself searching for someone… he had spotted Cedric shooting him a proud grin. And then he had seen Malfoy leaning against a tree, rolling his eyes at the heroism.

“Haha! Having fun, Harry?” Cedric had called out to him mid-waltz, just like he did to the other champions. 

And then somewhere to his right, as the couples started flocking the dance floor, he heard the most beautiful laugh. 

“Barely started and you’re already tripping! Ow!” Draco Malfoy muffled a shriek as Pansy stepped harder on his foot.

Malfoy was smiling. 

He looked around at the others dancing, and for a split second, they held eye contact: the smile on his face flew away like the wind.

And then all at once, Harry found himself back in the lake, but this time he was drowning. Gasping for air, choking on murky water, spluttering, coughing. Ah, there was Malfoy, seated by the water, holding out his hand. The same breathtaking smile on his face.

Harry reached for it with a gasp of relief, gripping it tight — only for Malfoy to push him back underwater.

✦✧ ★ ☆ ✶✡︎✦✧ ★ ☆ ✶✡︎ (the nightmare ends)

Harry sat beside Hermione, brows furrowed in frustration and pain. Fourth year had been Harry Potter’s gay awakening. It had been a shock when he had realised it was Cedric he liked, not Cho. Not his fault they were always together. But the one crush had led to so many… discoveries. Like on the night of the Yule Ball, when he had fallen for Malfoy’s genuine smile for the first time. He had told himself it was just his recent understanding of his sexuality messing with his head. For Merlin’s sake, had he been flustered when Bill appeared for the Third Task (looking dashing in his wizard’s suit). “Surely it’s just the hormones.”

Harry scoffed.

“What are you up to now?”

Hermione’s annoyed glare was focussed on him with full power. “Erm… Hermione?”

“What?”

“Are you alright?”

“Of course I am, not like I have anything to be mad about now do I!”

“…nope, not at all.”

Hermione punched his shoulder with a book. “Harry! You’re mocking me.”

“Am I?” Harry grinned, his tense shoulders relaxing for a moment. His best friends always made him feel better (even if Ron was being a brat these days). “Come on, what happened?”

“Nothing,” she grumbled aloud, despite her eyes darting towards the diabetic-ally sappy couple seated somewhere down the table. Lavender was too busy feeding Ron his pudding to notice.

“Ah, don’t worry, I hate it too.”

Hermione smirked, satisfied, before going back to her revision notes. “You ought to be studying…”

“Later,” Harry mumbled. His eyes latched onto a bob of sleek blond that had just arrived at the Slytherin table. The instant Malfoy sat down, his gaze drifted away from his ‘friends’ and locked onto Harry’s.

Harry bit back a gulp. Malfoy’s sharp eyes gleamed as bright as the stripes of silver on his tie. How ironic it was that his eyes and Harry’s would make a perfect Slytherin pair.

Harry found himself glaring back, holding his stance against Malfoy’s challenge. But really, he was enjoying it. The silent glare-contest that let him stare at Malfoy’s face for as long as he liked. Let him watch all the little blond strands flutter in the gentle wind that always kept the Hall cool. All the edges of his jawline, the little dark flecks in his silver eyes, the rosy blush on his nose… The faded scars from his ‘Sectumsempra’. Like a worshipper devoted to his idol, he etched all of it into his memory.

It wasn’t until Malfoy’s glare softened did he notice the faint grey lining his eyes. Was he not getting enough sleep? Was he facing some sort of trouble? His cheeks were hollower than before, his neckline sharper. Relative to the ‘rich boy smothered in luxury’ aura he gave off before… all he radiated now was gloom. (And beauty, but gloom.) Harry felt his eyebrow raising in concern, eyes asking a silent question he wouldn’t dare ask aloud. “Are you alright?”

Malfoy looked away.

“Harry? Harry! Cut it out!” Hermione whispered beside him, shaking him back to reality. She shot Malfoy a glare, which he deftly ignored. “What is it now?”

“Nothing,” Harry shook his head, downing a mug of iced water. “It’s nothing. He pisses me off, is all.”

⚡️ -> Shift of POV -> 🐍

Draco didn’t want to look away. Far from it — he longed to be able to wake up to those eyes, fall asleep to those eyes, drowning in their perfect green everyday. His anger dropped when he felt Harry’s gaze searching all over his face. Was he curious? Was he judging how terrible he looked? He couldn’t possibly be ‘checking me out’… Haha, perhaps in my wildest dreams, Draco scoffed internally. Definitely judging.

Potter raised an extremely judgemental eyebrow, his eyes questioning him. Here I was happily staring into his eyes, and there he is mocking me for looking sick. You’re pathetic, Draco, he chided himself and looked away. He’d rather lose the staring contest to bloody Potter than endure the mockery in those beautiful eyes. 

It hurt.

Hurt as bad as every nightmare where Harry hit him over and over with Sectumsempra, even an Unforgivable or two.

Draco shook his head and went back to staring at the tattoo edges he could see peeking out of his sleeve. He wasn’t surprised Potter hated him, loathed him, detested his very existence. And maybe so did Draco. Long long ago, back when he was still a petulant child mad at Harry Potter not being his friend. Long before he felt the first pangs of jealousy when Potter brought Patil to the Yule Ball, long before Potter went around snogging a sodding Ravenclaw. Back then, they were equals, absolutely repulsed by each other. But now… it was worse. Draco fell for the Potter that saved a French girl he didn’t even know. Draco fell for the Potter that cried over a Hufflepuff he only befriended that year. Draco fell a third time, for the Potter that stood up to Umbridge. 

Draco loved the Potter that hated him. 

Can’t blame him, he laughed at himself, covering the Dark Mark and the wounds all over it with a glamour.

“Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!”

“Like it hot, scum?”

BOOM! Another bookshelf tumbled as the wood of the racks caught fire. Yellowing pages of old spells and potion recipes were set alight, burning into ashes in an instant under the heat. The Fiendfyre roared, spreading its wings like a dragon, drowning the entire Room in amber, racing forwards, chasing after the intruders.

Draco ran for his life.

He could hear Goyle sprinting too, only a few steps behind. A flame shot out and latched onto Goyle’s pants: the idiot ran past him, screaming.

A bookshelf came crashing down, and they slipped underneath, missing death by a hair’s breadth. Faster, and faster… The fire crept closer and closer, roaring louder and louder…

“DRACO WATCH OUT!”

“Goyle..?” The smoke and the adrenaline were too much: he couldn’t see a thing, let alone the boy supposedly beside him.

Let alone the tall cupboard that was toppling onto his path.

All he could hear were the dozen crashes all around him, and one loud ominous ‘Creeeeeak’ that crept closer and closer—

And a sudden ‘Swish’ — before he could yell, he was plucked off the ground and thrown onto a wooden log… A broom. He was on a broom.

Down on the ground, he could see the cupboard that had fallen being devoured by the flames… He realised just how closely he had escaped it.

“Goyle!” He bent over the broom to grab his Stunned friend. He looked back up. 

A dark raven’s nest sat atop a flushed face, his back bent to steer the broom faster out of the Room.

He’d rather I be crushed to death… or burn. The heat must have gotten to his ginormous head, Draco bit back a sigh, tapping the broom with his wand. The dusty old thing shot out of the doors like a lightning bolt. With a wave of Granger’s wand, the doors slammed shut, right in the Fiendfyre’s face.

Gasping for fresher air, the trio sat down against the wall, exhausted. Draco slumped to the ground nearby, after having leaned Goyle against a pillar as well. They watched, horrified, as the beautiful diadem in Harry’s hands broke apart with a scream.

The Dark Lord lost another Horcrux. Draco lost a friend. Draco also now owes Harry sodding Potter his life.

And maybe he didn’t mind that one bit.

“Draco… Come.”

Narcissa Malfoy’s words bounced off of the stone all around the Hogwarts courtyard. Draco curled his fists in tighter, fully aware of the hundreds of hateful eyes, as he stepped out of the crowds and made his way across the courtyard. Voldemort [no, Draco refused to call him the Dark Lord anymore, he was just a bloody maniac] began grinning, big rotten teeth as ugly as the rest of him. Instead of maybe walking into Voldemort’s outstretched arms for a bloody stupid hug, he walked on towards where the old half-giant stood, stood stock-still before the body of the one man he dared love… and fell to his knees.

Time slowed, the one tear trembling on his lashes taking ages to sneak its way down his pale, grimy face. He could hear others behind him scowling, gasping, wondering. He couldn’t care less. A hundred memories flashed through his mind within the few seconds it took for the tear to fall.

✦ ✧ ★ ☆ ✶ ✡︎ ✦ ✧ ★ ☆ ✶ ✡︎

“Malfoy. Draco, Malfoy.”

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.”

“You wait till my father hears about this. This is servant's stuff.”

“If I didn’t know better, Draco, I’d say you were scared.”

Draco scoffed. “Scared, Potter?” He spat the name as if it were a curse. Which it was. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what…?”

“I thought I heard hooves…” Why did Potter’s voice sound so close…? Draco looked down to find he had subtly hidden behind the boy. Throwing himself further away, he shuddered. “N-Never mind, it’s probably nothing.”

Draco felt satisfied to turn the context around this time. “Scared, Potter?” 

“You wish.” The Gryffindor’s eyes glowed with determination and anger. It pissed Draco off, seeing the anger he felt every time he saw Potter, reflected back. Was he mad over what happened with the mudblood? 

Tsk. Draco swore to use the worst jinxes he could think of. “SERPENSORTIA!”

A Firebolt crashed into the pit, smashing into smithereens.

“Potter’s broom!” Parkinson smirked.

“Look!” A roar of cries ran across the stands as a limp body came crashing down beside the broom. The Headmaster raised his hand just in time: Harry Potter now lay mid-air, body as limp as a… a corpse.

Draco shook himself, correcting his expression into his most smug smirk yet, wary of his classmates jeering at the unconscious Seeker.

“Potter. Potter! Is it true that you fainted?”

Somebody at his table mimicked a dramatic faint, mocking Potter. The rest of the Slytherins cracked up, sniggering beside him, reminding Draco to stay in character. “I mean…” he scoffed, flashing a scornful grin. “You actually fainted?”

Weasley pulled a face at them, Granger pulled an annoyed Potter away, an arm wrapped tight around his back. Draco frowned.

“Barely started and you’re already tripping! Ow!” Draco muffled a shriek as Pansy stepped harder on his foot. Snarky Parkinson retaliated, making him laugh. Oh how wonderful the night would have been had he kept his eyes away from the centre of the dance floor. For right beside where Diggory was twirling Chang, Potter was watching him: judging, probably. In a way, it could have been satisfying: the Gryffindor Patil girl was all over him, but his eyes were on Draco.

Except they were scrunched up in hurt.

Almost like… Almost like Potter was hurt to see Draco dancing with somebody else…

It confused Draco. And Draco hated being confused.

“Father will kill you, Father will kill you,” Draco chanted inwardly — begging himself to not punch Umbridge in the ear. Sure, she was sodding torturing Potter. But his father really would kill him if he went against the Ministry…

Draco, for the first time in his life, regretted ever being born a Malfoy.

“No,” Draco denied recognising the captive. He wasn’t lying. The Potter he knew was breathtaking in his own Potter-y way, not blown up and blue like this wretch crouching before him. But he’d know those pretty eyes anywhere — but neither did his prick of a father (whom he now officially loathed), nor his unhinged aunt deserve to know that.

Besides, the trouble was worth it when Potter gazed back at him with nothing but pure gratitude.

Draco sat against the wall, watching the Horcrux break apart. The diadem was beautiful. It wasn’t worth Crabbe’s life, though. Voldemort was a sick scoundrel, just like his father.

Potter and Malfoy clashed eyes for a bare minute.

I save you, you saved me. Guess we’re even now. Nothing more between us.

Something snapped inside him. He had hoped the life debt would have dragged on a bit longer.

Draco nodded silently, pulled Goyle up, and stumbled away, sulking.

✦ ✧ ★ ☆ ✶ ✡︎ ✦ ✧ ★ ☆ ✶ ✡︎

Draco shook his blond head, refusing to cry. Potter — no, Harry — had once looked so innocent and charming and bright. The day he had first seen the frizzy-haired boy, Harry had been full of toothy smiles and sparkling green eyes.

“Draco~” Bellatrix’s voice twisted his nerves.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Voldemort hissed. “The boy’s dead!”

No. He refused to believe the light was gone.

Without a second’s hesitation, his wand shot out a brilliant blue hex towards the wraith.

A round of gasps. A very satisfactory “Ha!” from the only Weasley twin left. 

“That’s right. Harry’s not dead, not to us.” Longbottom? The sound of a sword being pulled out.

And with a loud ‘Thud!’ the body in Hagrid’s arms rolled over. Draco’s arms shot out simply on instinct, catching the body just in time. 

Green eyes stared up at his, wide in shock and glistening in… relief. Quiet joy. A very silent ‘Oh, there you are.’

Draco scoffed in response. As if I’m the one who returned from death. “Get up!” He shouted, pulling them both to their feet as Longbottom, Granger and the Weasleys led the Light Army into attack, while cheering for the Boy Who Did Indeed Live. 

Lucius Malfoy was fuming. Oh, the glee in Draco’s heart.

He’d have to fight now, try and sneak his mother away too. He’ll find his way back to Harry later. Just like he always did.

“You know,” Parvati Patil stretched her arm (which was covered in shiny bangles up to her elbow). “I really did think Ron would be the first to marry from our lot. Who’d have thought his little sister would beat him to it?”

Draco Malfoy scoffed, taking another sip from his white wine. It was a wonder a Weasley wedding even HAD the muggle drink — just as much of a wonder it was for anybody else to see a Malfoy enjoying it. “He’s a bloody idiot. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t even asked Granger yet.”

“Right?!” Parvati burst into laughter. “So dense, honestly! Oh, but I’m so happy for the girls! Aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, there she comes! Hello, pretty bride!”

Luna Lovegood waved, giggling, her blond locks flying in the summer breeze. “Hi! You know, I had somebody ask me if the gentleman over there was my brother.” She chuckled, patting Draco’s head for no reason.

“I wouldn’t mind being a Lovegood,” he swirled his glass. 

“Join the family?” Luna grinned.

“Too late,” he held up his left hand, flaunting the sparkling silver ring.

“Put it down, put it down! The aura of richness is blinding me,” Ginny Weasley cried, linking arms with her new wife, pulling a face at Draco. “Hey, Parvati, come dance with us!”

“I will, in a bit.”

“Malfoy, find your drunk fiancé and come dance, yeah?” She asked, already dragging Luna away to join the others.

Draco watched them leave in silence before downing the rest of his glass. “So.”

“So?”

“Have you found your… person?” He felt awkward asking after Lavender Brown, given it was Greyback, one of his father’s old lackeys, that bit her.

“Lav? No. I think I’m close, though. Maybe I’ll find her soon, and bring her to your wedding this winter,” she sighed with a distant gaze.

“Maybe.”

“Have you found yours?” She smiled knowingly. Draco falling to his knees over Harry’s corpse had indeed been quite the dramatic memory for everybody present.

Draco smiled back (he had learnt it felt oddly good to do that), eyes drifting over to spot Harry laughing his heart out with Neville Longbottom. “I have.” He placed his glass on a floating table nearby and rose to his feet. “Excuse me,” he bowed to the lady before strutting across the tent to find his partner. “Ahem.”

“Oh!” Harry jumped. “Hello, Dray~”

“You’re drunk as hell.”

“Wasn’t me! I tried to stop him,” Neville held up his hands in surrender, slinking away to escape.

Draco sighed. “I was about to ask you to a dance but… You’re a mess.”

“Am not! I can dance!”

“Yeah? And if you fall?”

“You can catch me!”

Draco chuckled. Harry seemed to like being caught by him, ever since the day of the Battle. “Fine. Let’s go, your ex is waiting.”

“Hey, we both have our own beautiful blondie partners now,” Harry laughed. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Draco gripped his hand as Harry dragged him off to the dance floor, his heart soaring with joy, feeling himself falling for him all over again. 

He had once been mad at the universe for this. For making him fall in love with Harry James Potter: so despicably, idiotically, and wholly in love.

Now, he could only be grateful for the ring he now wore, the hand he now held… the heart he now owned.

Somewhere in the back of the tent, sat a lonely Weasley twin. Chink! A coin rolled along the floor to rest at the Weasley’s feet.

Silently, he slid his hand up to his neck and tapped his nape. You frowned, leaning over his shoulder to check.

There were two round red marks on his skin, at least a millimetre deep. The skin around the wound was a brilliant sore pink.

You smacked his head with a hiss. "You dunce! I've been warning you for years against chatting up wild animals. You kept asking why, huh? This is why!" You raked your fingers through his hair, rubbing the spot you hit: not that you regretted but maybe it hurt a little bit. He subtly leant into the touch. “Get up, now."

"Why?"

"To take you to the matron. You’re lucky that’s my aunt.”

"I really don't think that's necessary..."

"But I do, so get up. Exactly what bit you?"

"..."

"Newt..."

"Acromantula."

"...A what?!"

"It was only a young one..."

"You could have been killed!"

"He was wounded..."

“Or eaten alive!" Your hand covered his neck protectively. "What were you thinking?"

"They usually don't attack me when I help..."

"It's a bloody acromantula, Newt— Tsk, forget it." You didn't want to make him feel worse, so you pulled him to his feet, pecked his cheek with a whisper of "Sorry I yelled" and dragged him down the stairs to the hospital wing. 

It had been three weeks since, and the summer holidays had begun. Newt was growing unusually quieter in his letters, and had skipped a coffee date last week. You were wondering what he was up to now, when an owl pecked angrily at the window. "Oh, so sorry, love," you opened the glass to let her in. "Did he reply?"

The barn owl opened her beak and dropped the tiniest box onto your palms. You tossed her a treat and picked up the box. Realising it was indeed heavy for something so small, you swished your wand at the box to enlarge it.

No wonder your owl looked so pissed: the box was huge and Newt had probably only managed one lightening charm.

You blinked at the glittery green wrapping. The little scroll at the top held only two sentences within. 

I'm afraid I can't explain everything on paper. Tomorrow, 5, same place?

So he did like it after all, you smirked, recalling your date the last holiday. With a flick of your wand, the gift-wrap (he sure knew how to make a Slytherin happy) came undone and the box popped open. 

Just a small apology. The words on the paper in the box had been cut through multiple times: attempted and re-written a dozen times.

But the gift was no small deal. Inside the box was... the prettiest autumn dress. All apple green chiffon, with cotton lace that boasted the finest little floral designs. No matter what anybody said, Newt Scamander was a man of taste.

You were early.

Okay, let’s be honest, you were at the café almost an hour early. Not your fault you were worried sick over your suspiciously secretive dearest.

About twenty minutes to three, the chair before you tumbled backwards. “Well hello.”

“You’re early.”

“So are you,” you smirked at the extremely clumsy but elegant Hufflepuff towering over you at the table. He may not be on the team but he was taller and (despite trying to hide it with a dozen layers of clothing) fitter than you — and you were a Slytherin Chaser. Newt was dressed in a dark teal shirt and khaki slacks: perfectly complementing your gown and reflecting his hair and ocean eyes. “You know, what you lack in asking-out skills, you make up for in your style,” you grinned. “Sit down already.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, making himself comfortable. “I asked for two Butterbeers and cakes for now, is that…” he asked slowly, pausing between words.

He was controlling his stutter. But his stutter hadn’t appeared for months now, with your help… Something was definitely wrong.

“Yep, perfect for now,” you looked around the outdoor-café. It was an inn full of open space: like if the Leaky Cauldron was in Lancashire and had a Hogwarts grounds-sized garden. The grass was fresh enough for Newt’s little friend to walk around in, and the Hippogriff and Thunderbird statues around the fountain were fine granite. It was no wonder it had grown into your date venue and study spot. “Less crowded today.”

Newt nodded, clearly relieved about it. Only after the order arrived did he speak. “Y/n… S-Sorry.”

“Newt, I told you over a dozen letters, it’s alright. Now that I know you’re healthy and well, it really is alright.”

He nodded, grateful.

“But an apology won’t save you from explanations.”

He swallowed hard, fingers drawing distracted patterns on the table. “I…”

“One sip and a deep breath, love,” you slid your hand close to his, fingers intertwining. 

He obeyed immediately, eyes still avoiding yours. “Prom… Promise you won’t be mad.”

“I’ll try,” you sighed.

Finally he met your gaze: his bright blue eyes were pleading. “Promise.”

“Alright, fine, IswearonyourBowtruckleIshallnotbemad, now spill!”

“Do you… remember the acromantula?” You nodded impatiently. “Well.” He turned away from the table and fixed his eyes on one of the table legs. He raised his right hand and flicked his fingers at the table — Zap! A bright cobweb wrapped around the leg so fast you nearly missed the string that shot out of his wrist. Newt cleared his throat to break the silence that ensued. “I… still don’t know how to undo it. Too sticky.”

You forced your open jaw shut and frowned, perplexed. “Newt, what in Merlin’s name was that?”

“Acromantulas have two prominent defence skills. Venom. And they can trap victims in a cobweb at lightning speed. The web wraps around the target… it’s sticky, lasts long enough for the acromantula to consume its prey.” Not once did he stutter: he was doing what he loved and was best at. “At least I don’t have the venom.”

“So you’re a human spider now.” You gulped down Butterbeer to ease your blood pressure.

“…S-Something like that.”

“Hey,” you took both hands, thumbs rubbing his wrists. “Relax. I’m not mad, nor disgusted. Just a little… confused. This isn’t supposed to be possible.” You shook your head, lifting one hand to kiss the knuckles. “But we’ll figure it out, hm? Hogwarts Library, bribing the CoMC professor, breaking into the Ministry's records…" His eyes grew wider and wider at every suggestion. "We’ll figure it out. And for now, we could take a trip to my aunt’s place.” He gripped your hand, alarmed. “Not to tell her everything but to have you checked for poison. This looks fun but I need to know you’re safe.”

A small half-smile played at his lips, a soft sigh washing over your face as he leant forth to kiss your forehead. “I am safe. I was… scared. Thank you,” he whispered.

“If you thought you’d get rid of me just from this, keep dreaming, spider-boy,” you laughed.

He grinned, leaning back into his seat and diving into the cake. 

“Aren’t acromantulas also known for their intelligence?”

“Mhm.”

“Let’s hope your Potions grades go up then.”

He burst into laughter, grabbing the serviette to wipe the icing all over his mouth. “Perhaps.” As the laughter faded, he stared at you, eyes soft and crinkled at the tips. “The part that I-I like the most about this is…”

“Hmm?”

“…I can protect you now.”

You sucked in a gasp, images of the group of Gryffindor bullies flashing through your mind. All the times Newt had caught you running late to dates with a black eye… “I guess so.” You wordlessly thanked him with a chaste kiss.

The breakfast tables’ chatter was interrupted with an odd hush. And of course, where there was gossip — there was no Harry Potter in sight. 

“He’s not even here.”

“Of course he isn’t, he’s probably guilty.”

“OR being cursed to oblivion by Snape—“

“Oh no no, I heard the Gryffindors saying he’s still asleep. Probably another You-Know-Who nightmare.”

“Will you guys cut it out already, I want to read this!”

You shook your head at the yellow and blue tables before moving over to your own. Before sitting down, you made sure to peek over at the green one as you do every morning. You already waved and winked out of habit before noticing the seat you were smiling at was… empty. 

And the others nearby were not happy about it.

“Oh good morning y/n,” Dean greeted. “Y/n? Where are you going?”

You ditched your house, running over to the two Slytherins shooting daggers at her. “Nott. Parkinson. What is it?” 

“Why don’t you go ask your noble house-hero?” Theodore Nott snapped. 

“Yeah, go ask the rascal how he casually murdered a student,” Parkinson scoffed.

“…” What? Murdered? Who? Surely not— 

“Now that’s dramatic, Pansy,” Daphne Greengrass shook her head. “I don’t know why you’re this concerned, y/n, but I guess you’re his friend now,” she sighed. 

“I am,” you nodded, ignoring Pansy’s glare. “Where is he? And where’s Zabini?” 

“Draco’s in the hospital wing. Blaise is with him, trying to force potion down that stubborn idiot’s throat.” 

Astoria Greengrass walked over to the table lazily, having just woken up. “Down who’s throa— Woah! Watch it!” She jumped back when a gust of red robes dashed past her and over to the Gryffindor table. 

You slammed a hand on the table, sending Ron’s plate of chicken flying. Lavender Brown caught it and gave it back to him but you didn’t have time to watch it all. “What in Godric’s name did Harry do this time?” you grumbled, picking up your cloak and bag. 

Hermione gripped your shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“To the hospital wing, of course.” One word kept whirring through your head as you recalled the weird pain from yesterday. Soulmates.

“…Y/n…”

“Don’t you start, Granger.” 

“Why would you care? He calls us mudbloods!”

“Maybe you should stop to think about a person before judging them on one damn word,” you snapped back, running out the door and down the hallways. 

Never had Madam Promfey’s glare been madder than when you literally crashed through the giant doors. “I’m so sorry, Madam Pomfrey, I—” 

“Where are you wounded?” 

“…erm. No, I came to see Draco Malfoy.” 

“…” Madam Pomfrey’s jaw nearly dropped, looking you up and down to check if your Gryffindor robes were a hoax. One eyebrow raised, she asked, “If you’re here to make him feel worse then by all means, get out, Miss y/l/n.” 

“Madam Pomfrey, please. He’s my friend. I need to see him.” 

The Slytherin matron blinked twice, thrice, before nodding slowly. “I see,” she mumbled, as though she understood something you didn’t. 

And maybe she did. 

“There’s nobody else around today, Mr Zabini and Mr Malfoy are over on the left side. I only allow one to remain by his side for more than ten minutes so…”

“I know.” 

She nodded and walked away into her own part of the wing, letting you stumble over towards where you could see Zabini’s frame in the distance. “Zabini! Is he asleep?” 

“Well if you shout like that of course he won’t be,” Blaise laughed, waving. “Look at you.” 

“An absolute mess,” a hoarse voice croaked from behind him. 

You dropped your bag and cloak on the next bed, made a mental note to Scourgify the bed before leaving, and walked to the other side of Draco’s bed. “Malfoy.” 

“Y/l/n. What happened to you?”

“I think that’s my question.” 

“No seriously, look at you!” Blaise snorted. “You look like a Niffler that got its gold snatched.” 

You patted your uniform down, tucked your braid away before reaching over to the bag. “I got you this. Dunno if you can drink any but…” you held out a mug of Butterbeer. 

Draco shook his head in silence, despite the sparkle in his eyes. 

“If you drink that Butterbeer now, I’m gonna strangle the potion into you as well,” Blaise glared.

“I didn’t say I’ll drink it.” Draco pointed to the bedside table so you kept the mug there, muttering a charm to seal it shut for now. “Thank you.” 

“What on earth happened?” You asked, your eyes finally catching onto the gashes on the sides of his neck, face and shoulders: the rest of him covered in hospital pyjamas and blankets. “I mean I heard much of it from the chatter in the breakfast hall but…” 

“Stupid Potter,” Draco mumbled, turning his head away, too tired to explain. 

Blaise took over. “Potter found him in the bathrooms, and attacked. For no reason. Sectumsempra. It’s a lacerating curse, according to Snape’s explanation to Poppy.” 

“A lacerating cu—” you bit your tongue, plopping down on the bedside, one leg crossed under you. “He’s a bloody murderer!” 

“Literally. Draco would have bled to death if Snape hadn’t found him by some odd stroke of luck,” Blaise shook his head, sitting down on the chair. 

“I’ll kill him.” 

“If anybody beats the Dark Lord to it, it’ll be you feisty little one for sure,” Blaise burst into laughter.

“I’m not joking! I heard the Hufflepuffs screeching he used a spell supposedly aimed for enemies. If Harry doesn’t know to distinguish between the level of enmity of a rival Slytherin STUDENT and goddamned YouKnowWho… I’ll teach him a bit,” you grinned. “Not a curse… I’m not that good. But there’s trickier hexes that last long enough.” 

“Weasley twins’ wisdom?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, laughing with him. It was when your hands resting on the sheets moved and hit Draco’s wounded arm that you noticed. He hissed and you apologised automatically, before even seeing the wound showing through the lifted sleeve. “…What the—” you grabbed his arm and laid it on your lap, pulling back the sleeve. 

A long, deep gash glowed dark red on his forearm, cutting right through a horrid black Dark Mark. 

Draco tugged his arm away at your gasp. “What? I thought you’d have seen it at Potions.” 

“Not the Mark you idiot, I don’t care about that.” 

“…” 

“This isn’t a mere Sectumsempra cut… is it? Why didn’t you tell Madam Pom—”

“...It’s not a cut Potter made.” 

You gulped hard, breath stilling for a moment. “Draco… You didn’t have to do that.” 

When he opened his mouth to say some insane complaint about being a Death Eater, you wagged your wand threateningly to silence him. “Some stupid dark sorcerer who can’t even kill a teenager that barely knows crap about offensive spells? He’s not worth fighting for or supporting, sure, but he’s definitely not worth torturing yourSELF out of guilt! Now you're being dumber than Snake-Man!” 

“Snake-Man?” Blaise snorted. 

“Oh it’s a term Dean and I came up with. Adds a bit of fun to the lousy old You-Know-Who,” you mocked, delighted to see Draco actually grinning from it all. “You, mister, better quit sulking around and hurting yourself. Snake-Man and everything he does is… wrong. But you’re a teenager, we all are! It’s not like any of us have a choice here. It’s stupid, all of this but… it’s not worth this,” you ended, patting his wrist lightly. 

Blaise watched the bare hint of a thank you in Draco's eyes and so, slowly slipped out. “Be right back,” he left with a wink. You sat there on the bed, recounting silly incidents in Potions class from yesterday, when he hadn’t been around. Seamus blowing up the cauldron, Ron nearly squirting blueberry juice in Slughorn’s face… you were glad to see him this relaxed.

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat from behind you. “I’m afraid Mr Zabini… had something to attend to. Miss y/l/n, you don’t mind staying here for a while?” 

“Oh,” you bit your cheek guessing what Blaise did. Yet again, being the loyal wingman-bestie. “I think I can stay here for the rest of the day, Hermione would let the teachers know on my behalf.” 

“Mr Zabini need not return?” Pomfrey smiled. “Understood,” she nodded, pulling the curtains close. “Oh, no funny business, the two of you.” 

“M-Madam Pomfrey!” Draco nearly shrieked when she walked away laughing. 

“…”

“…”

“…So.”

“You sure it’s alright to skip classes?” 

“Meh, it’s just for a day. I’ll get the notes so we could go somewhere quiet and maybe write together. Only maybe! O-Only if you’d want to—”

“I wouldn’t mind.” 

You beamed at him, and he weakly smiled back. “Hey, that potion…” 

Draco opened his mouth without a word. You blinked for a few seconds before laughing “What are you, a baby?” 

“Oh come on, just do it.” 

And you did. One spoon of potion, before quickly feeding a spoon of Butterbeer too. “How’s that?” 

“I think I could drink that entire bottle and mug now,” he grinned. “As long as it’s you feeding.” 

“Merlin, aren’t you a fli—“ Peck, he cut you off with one chaste kiss. “Wha- What was that for!”  

“The potion, love.” His face was aglow with a sharp smirk, smugly reaching up pat your cheek. “You see, I flirt to divert my mind from the sourness. I’m sure you hardly hated that, pretty gi— Mmph!” 

“And that’s called sweet revenge,” you shoved his face with potion. When he had swallowed it all and wiped his mouth, you held up the Butterbeer mug. “Drink up.” 

Having downed the drink, he sat up and watched in silence while you made him comfortable, stuffing a pillow to his back and pulling up the sheets. When you looked up, you saw him smiling softly, a stark contrast from the stiff and icy Slytherin Prince he often was. “What?” 

“You’re cute.” 

“What- Where did that come from?” 

“Just thought of it. Blaise once said: When I say cute girls, I mean caring and pretty. Now I know.” 

“When will you stop…?” you grumbled feeling your cheeks and ears were on fire. He laughed, pulling you close enough for you to rest your head against him. “Draco?” 

“Hold me.” It was a quiet whisper, almost fragile. 

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him loosely, aware of the countless wounds. “I vow to hex Harry's brains out. But you… Promise you won’t do something like that again?” 

Which was new given all he ever thought about was his friends’ safety. Others’. Most of whom he lost. 

Ugh, quit brooding, Harry. Let’s just… take a breather, he chided himself, walking across the banks to the little elf's grave. He could feel the warm presence still though he convinced himself it was merely the moon. His fingers wrapped tight around the wand just in case the presence was... deceiving. Another lie. 

Nothing had happened by the time he subconsciously stopped beside Dobby's grave. "Hello, Dobby."

The clouds cleared up a bit to shed more moonlight along the lake banks, and that was when he saw. Strings of elegant, shimmering flowers were strung around the headstone, wrapping up the rock firmly and yet tenderly. They were creepers of the finest, sparkliest lilies. The green of their stems and leaves, however, were an oddly familiar shade of dark green... and the flowers themselves had a magical glow to their even more familiar pristine, platinum white.

Years of duelling and fighting took action and made Harry grip his wand ever so tight ––

But one day of seeing the hidden truth kept him from attacking. 

So this was the “comforting presence” lurking in the dark… he lowered his wand. 

Harry heard a soft exhale. “You're not going to Sectumsempra me?”

“...you saved my life.” 

“Hm. Pity.” 

“What are you doing here?" The burning question spilt out of his chapped lips. What abominable reason could possibly bring... HIM... of all people... to this place, at this hour?

Draco Malfoy scoffed. “He was my elf before yours.”

Well, he had a point. Harry waited for any other remarks, any of the usual snarky comments... but none came. So he nodded, sat cross-legged on the sand, subtly shifting to the side. Draco walked into the light at last and Harry caught a glimpse of green turtleneck sweater and black coat. Draco pondered for a minute before sitting right beside the Gryffindor. 

Silence.

Both wizards sat there on the sand, staring at the white lilies glowing in the moonlight. Both are nothing but young boys being shoved into a war, left without a choice because of their parents. Both are young adults that were once merely children playing with Dobby secretly, in Malfoy Manor or Privet Drive: because neither family would have allowed it. 

Perhaps they both saw this at last. Perhaps they finally grew up. Perhaps that was why Harry waved his hand for a quiet wandless Accio charm. 

"Show-off," Draco mumbled when a Firewhiskey bottle flew somewhere out of Ron's secret stash and into Harry's grip. Harry held it out to his once arch-nemesis. The latter hesitated, staring silently at the dark, calloused hand before him.

Harry placed the bottle down, rolling up his sleeves.

“Those flowers—“

“They’re called lilies, scarhead.” 

“Right. They’re… nice.” 

“If that’s your best attempt at complimenting my magic then no thank you.” 

Harry sighed, shaking his head and taking another sip. He HAD to be drunk to be doing any of this. “They’re beautiful. Very.” 

“…Thanks.”

“But honestly, what’s with the green sweater?” Harry grinned. “Your mania over your house is far from just pride at this point—“

“It’s my favourite colour. For other reasons. Got a problem?” 

“What reasons to make the lilies look that greenish?”

“That was for you, you blasted idiot.” 

Green to signify Harry being Dobby’s closest friend? Or green lilies to comfort him? The way this is going, I’ll never know, the green-eyed son of Lily thought to himself, gulping down another two sips of Firewhiskey to calm his spinning head. 

Back to the silence. 

A slow breeze washed over them, splashing the string of lilies with a bit of moisture, sweeping over the grave. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin watched the draught glitter gold with sand; waltzing across the lake, away from them, over to the hillside. The lakewater splashed against the rocks, tide rising a little with the wind current. The gust of wind took away a lot more than just a pile of sand. Hatred… Coldness... 

He downed some more alcohol to hide the sudden smile. Silence was exactly what worked with the both of them, he concluded. They’d probably never be able to talk like normal humans.

“What are you, daydreaming?” 

Yep. This is exactly what I meant. “No, I realised we can’t ever talk without sounding like we’re duelling.” 

“‘Duelling’. A decent way to phrase it. I’d vote for ‘murdering each other’.” 

“Well what do you want me to do, apologise? You started it!” 

“You’re the idiot who decided to go against all Slytherins just because of whatever we did as eleven-year-olds on the first day of school!” 

“Well I’m sorry but you were being ridiculously rude—“

“I just wanted to befriend you, but all you did was scowl at me, what—“

“Draco.” 

“… stop that,” the blond looked away, tossing a handful of grass at him. 

Harry blinked in confusion, seeing the tips of the other’s ears gleaming red. “I’m sick of calling you your father’s name, it’s stupid,” he shook his head, delighted he really was drunk. “You’re nothing like him.” 

“He reminds me of that everyday, thank you very much.”

“Ugh, I meant you’re more…” Better? Understanding? Handso— What— Harry, get yourself together. “Humane. Than him. You’re better.” 

The red crept a little down his neck. “Whatever. Don’t expect me to call you Harry.” 

“That would need a miracle,” Harry laughed. “But Draco, I did want to be a friend, you know. I was new to the world, and you were the first I saw at Diagon Alley. When I saw you again at Hogwarts, I was happy, actually.” He scoffed sourly. “Until you decided to ridicule my first friend, that is…” 

Draco remained silent, drawing doodles on the sand, having plucked off all the grass nearby.

“You know, your sticky glossy hair never helped your impression, I hated the sleek look.” 

That won a laugh. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. Looks much better now though.” 

Draco laughed again, nervously ruffling the back of his head. “You’re drunk bad, aren’t you?” 

Harry shrugged and offered the bottle to him. 

“I don’t want Firewhiskey.” 

“Then what do you want?” 

The sparkling platinum head snapped up in surprise, eyeing him to see if he was joking around or if the tone really did mean anything this time. Draco found the eyes a bit too intoxicating, more so than the whiskey bottle below, so he diverted his gaze away from their sharp green and down to the pink, injured lips.

…Bad idea.

“Eyes up here, Draco,” Harry smirked. 

“You’re seriously more drunk than I am,” Draco shook his mane. “If you’re such a bloody Gryffindor and you know what I want then I dare you to—“ 

His slurring words cut off as a pair of hands cupped his face, pulling him closer. Soft, chapstick-covered lips crashed against chapped, dry ones. On reflex, Draco punched his shoulder and grabbed him by the collar, but when Harry didn’t relent — or rather kissed him a little harder — he let go. Let go of the eight years of tension and sat there, eyes shut, drinking it in. He couldn’t help but smirk: Harry seemed to be enjoying himself. 

“What are you grinning for? Am I that bad at it?” Harry whispered, pulling away panting. 

“Hm, fairly tolerable.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“Means you need more practice,” the Slytherin laughed. Wrapping one protective hand around the back of his head and the other cupping his chin, he pushed him onto the sand. Lips felt each other at first, before their tongues danced in a frenzy, like the draught of wind with its pile of sand. Harry found himself straddled and locked in place by a pair of perfect pearl-white arms. 

Not that he wanted to move away from this anyway.

Draco didn’t stop either, not until Harry tapped his back to come up for air. The blond rolled off the body underneath him and sat on the sand. Harry sat up to find him deep in thought, head hanging, skin aglow from the rising sun. “Draco?” 

“I have to go.” 

Harry felt his throat constrict, but nodded his agreement nonetheless. “You can’t stay? You’re not really with them… right?” 

Draco shook his head, openly denying it for the first time in his life. “I have no choice, just like you. Mum…” he bit his tongue. 

As it finally dawned on Harry why Draco was doing all this, he sighed. “I see. She’d be looking for you then,” he pointed to the specks of sunlight dotting the horizon. 

Draco nodded. “I…” He didn’t know what to say, or rather how to. So he rose to his feet, dusted off the sand. 

Harry stood too. “Erm,” he held Draco’s shoulders still to leave a light peck on his cheek. The Slytherin blushed hard, punching him lightly in the stomach while the other laughed. “I’ll see you around, Potter.” 

“Someday,” Harry nodded back.

And just like the wind, he disappeared.

Whipping your wand out, you spun around, broom held mid-air like a baton ready to bash the beast's head. But there was no beast in sight. You frowned, narrowing your eyes and mumbling a revealing charm. A single leaf wiggled in response. Slowly, a twig detached itself, climbed down the tree to your eye level, and stood on a lower branch.

You chuckled to yourself, lowering your defence wards and weapons before taking a step closer to the tree. "Hello there," you gave the Bowtruckle a little wave. The two leaves atop its head twitched in caution. It squeaked and ran, disappearing into the foliage. "Hey, wait! Oh come on, I'm not that scary!"

"Not at all, he's j-just extremely s-shy," a soft, low voice stammered a little to your left. You looked around to find a young boy in yellow robes fixing his glasses, the Bowtruckle on his shoulder trying desperately to hide in his ridiculously messy mop of hair. Beautiful, glittery hair.

"Well, then I shan't be surprised if Bowtruckles were your favourite species," you grinned, smacking his upper arm, laughing when he jumped at the touch. "See?"

"S… Sorry, just bad with…" Newt Scamander waved at your hands vaguely.

"Physical touch?"

He nodded, head tilted low.

"Aww, sorry. You'll get used to it," you smiled. "Shoulda prepared yourself for it when you first agreed to be best friends with clingy me." With that, you sat on the grass, laid your broom beside you, and patted the ground. Newt nibbled the inside of his cheek, weighing the pros and cons of spending a free afternoon with you in the forest, before quickly sitting across from you.

You both crossed your legs and removed your cloaks –– the forest was far too warm. You tossed yours against the tree, striking perfectly and letting it sink to rest on the roots. Newt shuffled over, picked it up, patted the poor fabric, folded it neatly and placed it atop his own. You could see a subtle head-shake, lips twitching at the tips. "What's so funny? I'm tired from practice, okay?!"

He nodded, letting out a chuckle before beckoning the Bowtruckle down. "Say hello," he patted it.

A low grunt and a wave followed, making you laugh. "Oh, you're hardly friendly. Hello. Say, Scamander, why are you here anyway? Don't––" you added, when he opened his mouth warily. "Don't tell me you just walked in, I saw you coming in here an hour ago."

"I… Ju– Just…" He gulped, eyes darted back up. Seeing you waiting with a patient smile, his shoulders relaxed a bit. "I come here… to s… study."

"You study here? Merlin's beard, the Forbidden Forest is your quiet space? Takes a damn lot of courage to even come in here, you're in the wrong house!" You clapped, laughing and cheering. "Makes sense. You do love animals, it would make sense to want to study in the middle of a bloody jungle. And for someone who's boggart is an office desk…"

His mouth twitched in a smirk, making you laugh. "It's not exactly Care of Magical Creatures, though…"

"Oh?"

He nodded again.

"Let me take a wild guess." He looked up, eyes far off but alert, the way they always were. "You're writing your own book on magical beings?"

"…" He gulped and shook his head vigorously, hair flying. "No, no, just ta..king my own notes," he denied slowly.

"If that's what you call it for now, sure," you flashed a grin. "I don't know about your writing skills, but I do know you're mad about these ones," you waved at the Bowtruckle, holding out your pinky finger, waiting. The creature pulled a face but relented. You felt a little leafy twig wrapping around your finger and glanced at Newt, beaming with pride. "Look! He likes me!"

Newt was probably surprised too, the way he smiled a little grin. "Who wouldn't?" you heard him mutter.

"I heard that," you smirked, holding out your free hand. The Hufflepuff gazed at it for three long seconds before clasping your hand in his own. "…"

"Wanna go back inside or stay? I could bribe a Prefect of ours to help get in after curfew."