A/N: Hey! So... this is my first finished work in the Harry Potter universe and... Well, I'm not sure how I came up with it, but I just did. It's an AU, basically, where Voldy was defeated when Harry was one and his mother sacrificed herself for him. Harry still went to live with the Dursleys and was Sorted into Slytherin, while Draco was Sorted into Ravenclaw. It also happens to be a one-shot. It's unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own. Er, I'm not sure if this is trigger-warning worthy, but I'm still warning you about it, just in case: after the fifth break line, one of the characters has a panic attack (or at least, I tried to write one — I'm not sure how successful I was). It's the part that starts with: "Harry hated cupboards." So, er, yeah, that was all I wanted to say. Anyway, I hope you like it!
The Tutor
Draco Malfoy was in the library, studying, when he was rudely interrupted by none other than Harry bloody Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, etcetera, etcetera. While the blond was reading his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook and taking notes, the git slumped on the chair next to him, like it was meant to be his all along. As Draco looked up, he took in the curly black hair that could only be described as a bird's nest, the thick glasses with their crooked silver frame, the green and silver tie that hung loosely around his neck, and the school uniform worn messily, as though he'd woken up late that morning and had got dressed while running towards class.
It made Draco wonder how did the oh-so-respectable Slytherin House accept someone with such a messy and unkempt appearance.
Oh, right. He was the Boy-Who-Lived. Exceptions were made for him whenever he breathed.
"Malfoy," the Slytherin greeted him with a stupid grin on his face.
"Potter." Draco looked up from his book, schooling his features into the Malfoy mask of expressionlessness. "What do you want?" He lifted the quill from the parchment, a couple of drops of black ink falling on top of his notes. He pushed back the annoyance that surged through him at that moment and focused on the intruder.
The black-haired boy frowned. "Why are you assuming I want something from you?" All he received in response was a pointed look. "All right, so we don't talk much, but that doesn't mean anything." Now what he got was an unimpressed look.
"Potter – we never talk. And suddenly here you are, without a bag or books, and you don't start looking for any books to read, you don't go talk to the people you actually know – you sit down next to me, start a conversation and try to be nice. You want something from me," Draco explained his reasoning.
The Slytherin looked impressed. "That's... er... smart."
The blond gave him another unimpressed look. "I know you are as observant as a brick wall, but even you must have noticed me wearing Ravenclaw robes for the past five years. I'm supposed to be smart." Potter scowled at him. "So, tell me, what do you want?"
"All right, all right." He raised his hands in a defeated motion. "So, I'm having trouble in Potions, and I need to get into N.E.W.T.-level Potions next year if I want to be an Auror. But Snape only accepts those who get Outstanding in their O.W.L.s and he doesn't think I can do it without some tutoring."
"You want me to tutor you in Potions?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
Potter nodded enthusiastically. "Snape recommended you personally. Said you were the only one who knew what they were doing." Then the Slytherin gave him such a pleading look, very similar to that of a kicked puppy, that the blond immediately knew he wouldn't be able to say no.
But still, he couldn't give in that easily.
"The perks of having a Potions Master for a godfather," he hummed nonchalantly, omitting the fact that his godfather was none other than Snape himself. "What's in it for me, Potter?"
That clearly wasn't the answer the black-haired boy was expecting. He dropped the kicked puppy look, adopting a distinctly baffled expression. "Er... I mean... What?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Articulate as always." Potter scowled. "What do I get if I tutor you in Potions?" he repeated the question, rephrasing it slightly.
"Er, well, that's... That's very Slytherin of you," the black-haired boy commented.
So that's what's bothering him? the blond wondered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes once more. "I come from a family of Slytherins, Potter. Just because I was Sorted into Ravenclaw doesn't mean I've suddenly forgotten my upbringing."
"Er, right." He scratched the back of his head. "Well..." Then his emerald green eyes rested on the open book in front of the blond, and they lit up as an idea occurred to him. "The Defence Against the Dark Arts exam is practical too, not just theoretical."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Thank you for this useful bit of information I've known since Fourth Year, Potter. How does that help me?"
The Slytherin scowled at him. "Let me finish." At the blond's raised eyebrow, he continued, "Umbridge hasn't allowed us to use magic in class since she was hired, and it's going to be hard to cast them on the day of the exam, especially if it's your first time doing it. I happen to be very good at all of them."
As Draco's brain caught up with it all, he asked, "You're offering to tutor me in Defence Against the Dark Arts in exchange of me tutoring you in Potions?"
Potter nodded, a grin on his face. "Yeah. That way I can take N.E.W.T.-level Potions next year and you'll pass DADA without a problem." He paused. "I can even teach you to cast a Patronus and a proper shield, if you want. I know they're beyond N.E.W.T.-level, but it can be very useful to know, regardless of your career."
Puppy dog eyes, DADA tutoring and being taught to cast a Patronus and a proper shield? He was sold.
(Also, he would be lying if he said he didn't want to spend more time with Potter.)
(But he was Draco Lucius Malfoy. He'd lied to himself before and would continue to do so, especially if it concerned the Boy-Who-Lived.)
"All right."
The Slytherin's eyes widened, as did his grin. "Really?"
"Yes, really. I'll meet you tomorrow in the dungeons after class. I will wait for five minutes, and five minutes only so do not be late," he warned the other boy. And that was a serious threat. He had barely enough time as it was to do his homework and study for his exams (why had he decided to take three electives instead of two?), he did not want to waste his time waiting for a git who was only doing this out of a sense of obligation.
"Sir, yes, sir." Potter saluted, but the effect was ruined by the goofy grin on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy." The black-haired boy stood up, but didn't leave, and a nervous look crossed his eyes, before leaving it as soon as it had arrived. It had happened so fast, Draco started to think he'd imagined it entirely, but before he could ponder the issue further, Potter stepped towards him, laid a warm hand on his shoulder, and kissed him on the cheek.
The Slytherin left the library in a hurry, leaving the blond alone, trying to keep a rising blush down. He was unsuccessful, and he cursed his pale complexion for that. Instead, he opted to look down at his book in an attempt to hide his blush and do some more studying. But he couldn't concentrate, and he kept replaying the conversation (and the kiss) in his mind. Whenever he thought of their meeting the next day, a faint blush rose on his cheeks again, and he felt a strange combination of excitement and dread in the pit of his stomach.
Oh, Merlin, he was screwed.
The following day, Harry Potter ran to the dungeons after class. It didn't help that he had finished the day with Divination, which was – unfortunately for him – located on the opposite side of the castle. Still, he didn't want to be late. Something told him Malfoy had been serious when he threatened to leave if he had to wait for more than five minutes.
Harry was never a punctual person, but he managed to arrive five minutes before the arranged time, and was pleased to find that Malfoy hadn't arrived yet.
Well, no, that wasn't quite true. He started to worry: what if he had taken too long and Malfoy had already left? What if he had changed his mind and wasn't coming in the first place? Did that have something to do with the kiss from the day before? (It was just a kiss on the cheek, it wasn't too bad... was it?) What if—
Draco Malfoy stepped through the door, interrupting his angsty thoughts. Harry grinned as soon as he saw him
"You came," was the first thing he said, and silently cursed at how hopeful, surprised, happy and, quite frankly, pathetic that sounded.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow in response. "I did," he replied. "I believe that was the agreement." He paused, setting his bag on a nearby table. "Have you brought your supplies?" Harry nodded dutifully. "All right. I won't do much tutoring, today. I just want to establish your level and see how I can help you improve."
Harry nodded. "That's smart."
Malfoy gave him an offended look. "If you're implying that I'm usually not, I suggest you take a good look at the colour of my robes before you walk out this door in search of another tutor."
The black-haired boy winced. Good job, Harry, he told himself in a very sarcastic manner. "Sorry," he sincerely apologised. "What will I be doing, then?"
Malfoy didn't answer and, for a moment, Harry thought he would actually walk out the door. Then, "You'll be brewing three potions we've already covered in our previous years: a Wideye Potion, a Shrinking Solution and a Draught of Peace." Harry sighed in relief, and nodded earnestly. There was a small pause, before Malfoy snapped, "Well, then? Start working."
The black-haired boy gave him a wide grin and a salute. "Yes, sir!"
He started working immediately. His first step was to open his textbook and find the correct page so he could follow the instructions. But Harry soon found that maybe – just maybe – having his secret crush as a tutor might not be a good idea.
He could feel the blond's judgemental eyes on him as he added six Snake Fangs and four measures of Standard Ingredient to the mortar and six dried Billywig Strings to his Pewter cauldron. He felt incredibly impatient and self-conscious as he waited for thirty seconds – though it felt like a lifetime – for the potion to heat at a medium temperature.
When Malfoy started muttering under his breath and Harry heard the characteristic sound of a quill scratching a piece of parchment, he nearly dropped the mortar full of the ingredients he was supposed to finely crush. It took all his self-control to prevent his hands from shaking, and his nerves remained frayed as he added four measures of the crushed ingredients to his cauldron and stirred the solution three times, clockwise.
Finally, he waved his wand, and sighed. He was done with this potion at the moment. He looked up at Malfoy expectantly. "Well?" he asked, unable to stand the oppressing silence in the room. "How did I do?"
"All right," the blond answered, and Harry could feel disappointment hit him like a brick. Don't be like that, he scolded himself. If you were actually good at Potions, you wouldn't need his help. "How long must you leave it to brew?" the Ravenclaw asked.
"Er..." Harry sneaked a look at his textbook. It said he had to wait eight hours if his cauldron was made of copper, fourteen if it was brass, and... "Twenty-three hours, because my cauldron's made of Pewter."
Malfoy only hummed in response, writing something on his parchment. He stepped towards the solution, analysed it well, and wrote down something else. They were closer now, and if Harry could just lean over and read what was on the parchment...
The blond moved away, parchment with him. "No reading my notes, Potter," Malfoy snapped. So much for my Slytherin sneakiness, he thought. "As your cauldron is currently occupied, I'll lend you mine so you can brew the Shrinking Solution."
Harry grinned. He supposed if he was asked to continue, then that meant he wasn't a hopeless case. With renewed energy, he flipped the pages on his textbook until he found the correct one and started working.
Much to his disappointment, he blocked on the second step of the potion. The book said: Stir slowly. What does this even mean? he wondered. Should I stir clockwise or counter-clockwise? When do I stop stirring?
"Is something the matter, Potter?" the blond asked, apparently noticing his sudden inaction.
"I, er..." Should he ask him? He might think you're an idiot and refuse to tutor you any further, his mind supplied unhelpfully. Then again, you asked him to tutor you. This is what he's here for. That didn't help. Afraid that Malfoy would leave if he asked, he shook his head and answered, "No, nothing." He started stirring.
The book was incredibly vague. It always said "stir slowly" or "stir vigourously". It was either "Gently heat your potion" or "Heat at a high temperature". He got more and more nervous as he followed the vague instructions, and when he finally finished, it was a dark forest green, as opposed to the bright acid green it was supposed to be.
Malfoy stepped over, took notes, glanced at the book and took even more notes. The familiar scratch of a quill on parchment was grating his nerves. The blond vanished the potion, and Harry suspected it was because it would be useless to bottle it, as it wouldn't work. He jotted something down again, only looking up briefly, to tell him, "Well? Start brewing," before returning to his notes.
Harry was slightly relieved that he wasn't kicked out after that failure, and started working. This potion was more complicated than the other two – which was normal considering they had done it for the first time just before the Christmas holidays that same school year. In class, he had got the lowest mark, and Snape had vanished his potion simply because he missed out adding the syrup of hellebore. It had been a tiny mistake – he had misread the instructions – but it certainly hadn't helped him get on the Professor's good graces.
Despite being in Slytherin, Harry was absolutely certain Snape hated him. At least most of the time.
Now, not wanting to embarrass himself further in front of the Ravenclaw, he read the instructions three times, and muttered the steps under his breath as he prepared the potion, very thankful for the detailed instructions. Then again, this was a very delicate potion. One wrong move and it was basically ruined. It kept him on his toes, but at least he managed to do it right this time. And relief coursed through him when he saw a light silver vapour coming out of his cauldron – a sign that he'd brewed it properly.
Malfoy, once again, stepped closer, took notes, and, much to Harry's surprise, bottled the potion. "All right, that's enough for today."
The Slytherin wasn't sure if he was being dismissed or not, so he remained where he was. After a moment of silence, with him tapping his side with his fingers in a random tune, he asked, "How did I do?"
"Like I said, the first one's all right. It's not complete, but it looks decent, for now. The second one was useless, brewed incorrectly." Harry winced, but Malfoy ignored him. "And the last one is excellent. I'll show it to Professor Snape, and if he approves, I'll give it to Madam Pomfrey."
"Wait, really?" the black-haired boy asked, stunned at the praise.
The Ravenclaw looked up from his notes. "Are you doubting my skills again, Potter?"
"What? No," he quickly replied. "It's just, last time I did it, I... Well, I forgot the syrup of hellebore," he admitted. He received an unimpressed look and watched as the other boy wrote something else down. "So..." he resumed. "How can I improve?"
For a moment, Harry thought he wouldn't receive an answer. Then, Malfoy spoke up, "You rely too much on your textbook. If the instructions are vague, chances are you won't be able to do it right. Being successful in Potions requires the ability to follow instructions, but also the ability to guess what it needs and when." He paused. "You should know that, unless specified, it doesn't matter whether you stir clockwise or counter-clockwise. And, once again, unless specified, you must stir until the solution has reached a homogenous state."
Harry blushed. So he had noticed. And hadn't said anything. The black-haired boy decided right then and there that he was an idiot for thinking Malfoy would give up on him so quickly. "Thanks," he replied. "My classes end earlier tomorrow, so I can come and finish the Wideye Potion," he added.
Malfoy looked up at him in surprise. "All right. I'll come as soon as my classes end. We've got a lot to work on, but I'm sure you'll be able to pass your O.W.L.s."
Harry stared. "Wait, really? You think I can get an Outstanding in Potions?"
The blond hummed noncommittally. "Perhaps." He lowered his quill and parchment, and started packing his things. The Slytherin did the same, but remained where he was once he was done, pondering a very serious issue.
Should he or shouldn't he?
Malfoy noticed his hesitation, and told him, "You can go now, Potter. I assure you watching a Potion and waiting for it to brew isn't very exciting."
Ah, sod it, he decided. He moved, all right, but instead of walking towards the door, he approached the Ravenclaw and hugged him tight, the dark fabric of the school robes feeling soft under his hands. He smells nice – like expensive cologne... he thought. When the meaning of his words hit him, his eyes widened and he blushed – a deep red taking over his face.
He let go of the blond and walked out the door, trying – and failing epically – to keep his very visible blush down.
If that's how every tutoring session went, then his crush would not remain secret for too long.
Draco Malfoy was incredibly nervous when he walked up the stairs and headed to his first session of practical Defence Against the Dark Arts. He reached the seventh floor with ease, and headed to the left corridor of the castle, looking for Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry. As he did so, he steeled himself, pushing his nerves into a compartment that was soon locked away. It allowed him to stop his hands from shaking, and to keep his head high, shoulders straight, and a calm pace as he walked to his destination.
Malfoy mask in place, he reached the corridor with the tapestry and headed for the wall on the opposite of Barnabas the Barmy. Potter hadn't arrived yet, though that was no surprise. First day of tutoring aside, he only arrived early if he had a free period before their meetings. But he always managed to get there either on time or a few minutes late, but never after the five-minute mark. And whenever he did show up, he was always ruffled and out of breath, as though he had had to run to get to their meeting place on time.
That day proved to be no different. Draco had been about to give up and leave when a set of running footsteps echoed through the hall and Harry Potter joined him in the corridor.
"Hi," the black-haired boy greeted him with a grin. At once, memories attacked Draco – the way the Slytherin had kissed him on the cheek that time in the library, or the tight hug he'd received on the first day of their Potions lessons. The blond could feel a blush coming, and quickly pushed those feelings and memories away. Now was not the time to think about that.
"Afternoon, Potter." Draco nodded, having regained his composure rather quickly. "Now, where's this room you mentioned?" The Slytherin had told him they would meet in the Room of Requirement, the entrance of which was located on the opposite side of Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry. But there was no door there, and the blond was starting to doubt the other boy's sanity.
"Oh, right." Potter started pacing in the same area, once, twice, three times. Before Draco could snap at him, a door appeared right where the wall had been before. The blond's eyes widened, genuinely impressed by it, though other than his eyes, there was no way to know so. The Slytherin grinned. "C'mon." He opened the door.
The room was full of objects that would allow them to practice any sort of spells – from jinxes and curses to regular charms. One section of the room was basically empty – plenty of space for two duellists to engage in battle – and another had several targets in it so one could practice particularly bad spells without harming anyone.
Noticing his staring, Potter asked, grinning, "Impressed?"
"Quite," Draco answered with a neutral expression, keeping all emotion out of his voice. "What will we be doing, then?"
Potter had planned to review several Defensive Charms – which Umbridge had vehemently discouraged them from learning, let alone practice – that were on the year's curriculum. Draco got the hang of them rather quickly, and, despite his initial reservations, the black-haired boy proved to be a decent teacher. He explained what the Ravenclaw was doing wrong clearly so he could correct it, and always demonstrated things first so the blond knew what to do and what to expect.
At least until the Smokescreen Spell.
"No, no – you're doing the wand motion wrong." Potter shook his head. "It's supposed to be from the inside out, on the opposite direction. Here." The Slytherin approached him, and put a warm hand over his. He gripped it gently, and guided him through the appropriate motion, though not quite casting the spell. Suddenly, Draco was far too aware of how close they were and how the black-haired boy's calloused hands felt on his own smooth skin.
Focus, he scolded himself, using all his self-control to remain still and not react in any way.
"Try it," Potter instructed him, his voice a lot softer than before. The blond started to think that maybe, just maybe, the Slytherin was aware of their closeness as well.
Draco nodded stiffly, the other boy's hand still on his own. He didn't comment on it, deciding to follow his tutor's instructions instead. "Fumos," he cast, doing the proper wand motion. The result was immediate, a thick cloud of smoke pouring out of his wand and filling the room.
"Brilliant!" Potter praised him, squeezing his hand before finally dropping it. Draco, for some infuriating reason, couldn't help but lament the loss of the warm hand. The Slytherin, however, had not moved away, and was still standing rather close to the blond. He cleared his throat. "I – er, I think it's better if we leave it here, for now. You're doing well, really. We should be done with Defensive Charms next time, and then move on to the counter-jinxes Umbridge hates so much." He paused. "That is, if you do want to continue with this."
Draco frowned. "Did I give you the impression I didn't?"
Potter blushed, and scratched the back of his head. "I, er, I thought – since you're doing so well with these – that you might not want to continue," he admitted.
"Look, if you don't want to continue—"
"No, of course I do," Potter quickly cut him off. "I just – er, I thought–" The black-haired boy shook his head. "Never mind. I – er – I've got to go. I just remembered Pansy's waiting for me back in the common room – we're supposed to be doing our Charms essay together. I'll see you tomorrow." He spoke so quickly Draco almost didn't understand what he had said. The blond blinked and suddenly, Potter was walking out the door, leaving him alone in the Room of Requirement, still filled with smoke from the last incantation.
Draco sighed, picked up his bag, and left. He had his own homework to do.
Harry entered the Great Hall during lunch time, feeling extremely happy with himself, and shocked absolutely everyone except his closest friends – Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini – by sitting at the Ravenclaw table, right next to Draco Malfoy. He slipped on the bench, taking advantage of the empty space on the blond's right, and if he ended up pressed against him... well, that wasn't a problem, right?
"Hello," he greeted Malfoy in an extremely cheerful manner. "How was your morning? Good? Mine was brilliant."
The blond glanced at him before returning to his food. "What do you want, Potter?" He didn't comment on their closeness, which Harry had come to expect at that point, but even his regular drawl wasn't enough to wipe the grin off the Slytherin's face. In fact, it only widened.
"I had double Potions this morning," the black-haired boy informed him. "And I got Exceeds Expectations for my Strengthening Solution even though it was our first time brewing it and the instructions weren't very detailed." He didn't overthink it this time, and just jumped at the other boy's neck and pulled him in a tight hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
The blond stiffened under his arms, and the students around them – especially at the Ravenclaw table – started whispering amongst themselves. "You're making a scene," he muttered so that only Harry would hear.
"I don't care," the Slytherin replied without moving a single millimetre, his breath ghosting across the other boy's collar. "Thank you, really."
Malfoy relaxed, almost as if accepting the hug. "Don't. I didn't do anything. That's all on you. I do remember telling you you weren't half bad at Potions when you paid attention to what you were doing."
Harry snorted. He could feel the blond shiver slightly under him as he did so. "I never thought I'd see the day when Draco Malfoy would be humble," he joked, his tight hug unrelenting.
"Shut up," the blond snapped, at a normal volume. But the Slytherin could hear the slight smile on his voice as he said so. He grinned.
"We're still meeting after class, right?" he asked.
"Obviously," Malfoy answered. "As good as it is for you to get Exceeds Expectations, you need Outstanding to get into N.E.W.T.-level Potions." That was exactly the answer Harry had wanted to hear and for that, he hugged the blond even tighter. And then, finally, he let go.
He was pleased to see the pale boy's cheeks tinged pink. In fact, Harry thought that the sight of Malfoy blushing was absolutely adorable (and the blond would probably kill him if he knew the Slytherin had just thought that of him). It was so adorable he couldn't help himself – he gave the Ravenclaw a peck on the cheek and was quite pleased when the boy's blush deepened.
"I'll see you later, then," he whispered before standing up and heading for his usual spot on the Slytherin table. Which ended up being a bad idea.
The look Pansy gave him as soon as he sat down in front of her made him blush a bright red – even worse than Malfoy.
Draco waited inside the Room of Requirement for Harry Potter to show up. A couple of months had passed since the day the black-haired boy approached him in the library and the O.W.L.s were only a few weeks away. Potter's Potions marks had gone up exponentially ever since they'd started this tutoring session, and Draco had been able to master all the spells in the year's curriculum thanks to the Slytherin. While they both met up and brewed some potions together from time to time, the only reason they met up in the Room of Requirement was for Potter to teach him how to cast a Patronus and a proper Shield Charm.
Right now, they were working on the Patronus Charm, and it frustrated Draco to no end.
While all the other spells had been relatively easy to master, this one was infinitely more complicated. Of course, the blond had been expecting that. It was, after all, a spell that wasn't even taught at Hogwarts. He hadn't thought it would be easy. But still, not being able to cast it was infuriating. Draco practiced every day, whenever he found himself alone in his dorm. He'd had three lessons with Potter, and the closest he'd got to something was to cast some silver mist on their third lesson. This was their fourth, and as the blond waited for the Slytherin to arrive, he tried to find the strongest, happiest memories he had.
It was hard. He hadn't had a bad childhood, not at all. But it hadn't been extraordinary either. And that was the problem. Did he have happy memories? Of course he did. Loads of them. Were they strong enough to cast the charm? Well... no. Perhaps it was because he'd lived a relatively good life, and lacked the contrast between good and bad times that made the good ones feel better. Or perhaps all his memories were happy, but weak. Maybe he was going about it wrong. Maybe if he tried to imagine facing down a dementor...
The blond took a deep breath, and searched his mind for a happy memory. It had to be a memory he wouldn't mind replaying in his mind over and over. One he would love to see and revisit and remember just before he died.
"Expecto Patronum," he cast, focusing on the memory with all his might.
The silver mist returned. Draco focused on the memory even more. The mist kept shooting out of his wand, bigger than ever before, and formed a shield that was meant to protect him against dark creatures like the dementors.
He lowered his wand, and the shield vanished. Draco felt oddly content with himself. He'd managed to cast a Patronus, albeit an incorporeal one, and he had to admit it felt brilliant.
Now if he could just cast a corporeal one...
He heard someone clapping behind him and he turned around. He recognised the person immediately – only one Slytherin could have such an unkempt appearance and suffer no consequences whatsoever.
"You did it!" Potter grinned at him. "That's brilliant. What were you thinking about?" he asked.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "That's a rather personal question, Potter." He checked his watch before adding, "You're late."
The black-haired boy blushed. "Sorry. I fell asleep in History of Magic." Draco couldn't blame him for that. After all, who didn't fall asleep in that class? Professor Binns managed to make everything boring, and it was a miracle if anyone stayed awake for the entire lesson. If anyone stayed awake and took precise notes during the whole class, then it was quite simply the end of the world. "I imagine the memory you used was strong, but... Maybe you need something stronger, for a corporeal Patronus? Have you tried using something other than a memory? Something – anything – that makes you insanely happy should work."
"Oh, and you mention that now." Draco glared at him.
Potter gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. I thought I'd told you already." While the blond eased his glare, he still somewhat resented the Slytherin for not mentioning it earlier. Finding an appropriate thought would have been a lot easier if he'd known that fact. "Why don't you try it?"
Draco focused. "Expecto Patronum." The silver shield returned, but that was it. His Patronus remained incorporeal. Realistically, this was far much better than any other person his age would possibly achieve – except Potter, obviously – but still, he felt like he wouldn't be able to rest until he managed to do the corporeal charm.
"Try again," Potter encouraged him. "I know you can do it. You're brilliant at Charms, why shouldn't you be able to do this one?"
Draco gave him an irritated look. "Potter, it's not the same. The Patronus Charm is well beyond N.E.W.T.-level and only a handful of people can do it. It's far more difficult than any other charm I've ever cast."
The Slytherin shook his head. "Listen." He stepped towards Draco, reducing the distance between them. "Forget about that. Forget about how difficult it is and how few people can do it. Focus on the charm itself, and whatever you were thinking to conjure it. Trust me, Draco." If the blond hadn't had an insane amount of self-control, he probably would've shivered at the way Harry pronounced his given name. It was the first time he said it in all the time they'd spent together, and he hadn't been expecting him to use it just yet – if ever. "You can do it."
The Ravenclaw took a deep breath. "All right." I can do this, he thought. I can cast a corporeal Patronus. I just need to focus. So that's what he did. He used the same thought from the last time he'd cast the spell. Focus. He held his wand up. "Expecto Patronum."
It worked.
Silver light emanated from his wand, and soon took form right in front of him. It was a bird, he realised. Upon closer inspection, he recognised the proud figure of a buzzard. It flew around the room, surrounding him, then flying around Harry – and then flying up and up and disappearing once reaching the ceiling as Draco ended the Charm.
"Brilliant!" the black-haired boy complimented, standing right next to Draco. "I knew you could do it." He grinned up at him. "Now you have to do it again."
"Why?"
The Slytherin's grin widened. "Just trust me."
The blond narrowed his eyes at him, but did as he was asked. Besides, doing it one time wasn't enough – he had to keep practicing, see how long he could hold it. So Draco did it again, and the buzzard reappeared.
"Expecto Patronum," cast Harry, and soon the blond's buzzard and the other boy's stag were making their way through the room and playing – can Patronuses play? – together.
The blond laughed. He was happy, he realised. In that moment, standing in that room, with Harry and their Patronuses running and flying around, he felt happier than he remembered having ever felt.
His brain warned him against his following action – it wasn't logical, it could backfire, there were too many variables that hadn't been accounted for – but he did it anyway, too happy to care. With his free arm, he pulled Harry closer and kissed his temple.
Their Patronuses shone brighter.
Harry hated cupboards.
It had absolutely everything to do with the fact that he had practically grown up in one – and being sent to a dark cupboard with no light, food or drink as a punishment was enough for anyone to develop a mild-to-severe case of claustrophobia. Every time he saw a cupboard he couldn't help but remember the one where he'd slept in until he turned eleven and had strange owls coming over to deliver his mail. And, now, because of the bloody Weasley twins, he was stuck in another cupboard.
The worst part? He couldn't breathe.
He was paralysed, wanting to run away, but unable to. His heartbeat quickened. His breathing was ragged and forced, and it felt like someone was choking him. He was sweating, and the only thing he wanted to do was to run. He needed to escape. He needed to escape.
He needed to escape.
"Alohomora," someone – a voice that sounded incredibly familiar, but which he couldn't recognise – cast, and the door opened. The Slytherin jumped out of the cupboard, landing on his knees, feeling as trapped and helpless as he had felt when he was inside. "Harry?"
He didn't answer. His hands were shaking. He still felt like he was being choked. His heart beat wildly in his chest.
He felt like he was dying.
"Harry." There was that voice again. "Harry, listen to me." He was. He couldn't say it or do anything to show it. He was still choking, still dying— "Harry, look at me." He could feel a cold, gentle hand cup his cheek and slowly move his head so his green eyes met grey ones.
He immediately recognised the person in front of him, but he couldn't remember his name. He could barely remember his own, barely think coherently. All he knew was that he needed to run, and he was dying...
"Look at me," the other person continued in a soft voice. "Breathe with me."
Harry frantically shook his head. "Can't," he croaked.
"Yes, you can. Of course you can, Harry. Just breathe with me. Just try." He paused, before adding, "I believe in you. Just try it. Breathe in," they both did so, though the Slytherin felt like it was the most arduous task he'd ever undertaken, "and out." They did so. "Good. Let's do it again."
The two of them remained kneeling on the cold, hard floor, breathing slowly and deeply for what felt like an eternity. First, the invisible hand that had been curled around his throat eased its grip, before disappearing completely. Then, the urge to run subsided until it was gone. His heart was still beating, fast and loud, but the sensation of fear and panic that had gripped him had left. Now he could finally hear and see around him properly, and, to be honest, he had no idea how to feel when he realised Draco Malfoy was the person who had freed him and managed to calm him down.
"Harry? Do you feel better now?" the Ravenclaw asked, voice still soft.
The black-haired boy nodded. "Y-yeah." His hands were still shaking, his heart was still racing, and sweat dripped off his forehead, but at least he didn't feel like he was dying anymore and was able to take deep breaths without a problem. "I'm going to kill the Weasley twins. Bloody Gryffindors."
Draco chuckled softly. "You have every right to do that, and I'll help you. But not now. Just tell me what you need."
"I..." That was a good question. What did he need? Well... He didn't want to be alone. Not now. But he couldn't ask that of the blond, could he? "Stay," he blurted out before he had finished debating with himself.
The Ravenclaw didn't answer. Instead, he pulled the black-haired boy into a comforting hug. Harry buried his head in the other boy's chest, letting the oddly comforting scent of the blond's expensive cologne wash over him. His hands clenched into fists as he grabbed the other boy's grey jumper, part of the uniform, clutching it like a lifeline as the battle within him resumed.
His Slytherin sense of self-preservation was telling him to leave, that Draco was not to be trusted, that he would take his weakness and destroy him with it. But everything else inside of him was telling him otherwise – that it was okay, that he was safe, and that everything would be fine.
Truth be told, he was exhausted. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to lie down, and have a nice little nap. He wanted to forget about everything, just for a moment.
Tomorrow, he would absolutely destroy the Weasley twins. But for now, he would recover from his mental and emotional exhaustion.
"Draco?" he eventually asked, after staying the way they were for an unknown period of time – Not enough, said a little voice in his mind, Never enough.
"Yes?"
"I'm tired."
The blond stayed silent for a moment. And then, "All right. I'll take you to your common room. Is that okay?" Harry nodded in response, head still buried in the other boy's chest. Draco kissed the top of his head. "Come on."
He leaned on the Ravenclaw the entire way to the dungeons, only letting him go when it was time to enter the common room. He opened the door with Parseltongue, unwilling to reveal the Slytherin password to someone from another House.
"You'll be all right?" the blond asked him upon their arrival at the dungeons.
"Yeah." No. But I'll live.
"If you need anything—"
"I'll find you," Harry cut him off, speaking the truth. He was suddenly glad he had nicked the Marauder's Map from the Weasley twins in Third Year. He had to plan his revenge... tomorrow. "Thank you."
"Anytime." Draco pressed another kiss to his temple, before stepping away from him. "Get some rest," he added, voice soft, before leaving.
As Harry made his way through the common room, and back into his dorm, he couldn't fight against the disheartening comments in a dark corner of his mind that told him that Draco was not to be trusted.
The Shield Charm lessons were going smoothly – far more than the Patronus ones had. Draco had managed to cast his first, albeit weak, shield in his first attempt, and had strengthened it every time he cast it. What he and Harry did was basically duel – except he couldn't fight back; he could only raise his shield and hope it would push back any spell Harry threw at him.
But that afternoon would be their last meeting. The following day, a Monday, the O.W.L.s would start, and they would be too busy with last-minute studying to make sure they passed their exams. Draco didn't know how to feel about that. Was he ready for all his O.W.L.s? Of course he was. That wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was Harry.
The black-haired boy had been distant, lately. Always tense and on guard, as if he expected something to happen. His appearance was messier than before – an extraordinary feat and Draco hadn't known it was possible. Every time something happened – like Seamus Finnigan, Gryffindor, causing another of his trademark accidental explosions – the Slytherin would jump, facing the direction of the noise, wand drawn. If Draco tried to talk to him, he would keep his answers short and to the point. If asked how he was doing, he would always say "Fine" and change the subject. But what annoyed the blond the most was the fact that Harry refused to look at him in the eyes.
It all came back to the same problem: the Slytherin was trying to distance himself from him. The question was: why?
Harry lowered his wand after sending one last nasty jinx his way – blocked by his strong shield – and put it away. "That settles it. You're ready for the O.W.L.s," he told the Ravenclaw, attempting to smile, but it was quite obviously forced. That, and he still wasn't look at Draco, but rather at the wall behind him.
"Thanks to you," the blonde replied, watching for a reaction. Harry snorted, and shook his head, still looking away from him. Did this have anything to do with the cupboard incident? He tried to think like a Slytherin – which wasn't hard considering his family. How would that have affected him if it were anyone else?
Oh.
"Actually, it's thanks to you I have a chance of getting an O in my Potions O.W.L.," Harry replied, and Draco quickly busied himself packing his things. I'm an idiot, he thought. Of course that's what's bothering him.
"You'll have to tell me your results," the Ravenclaw stated. "I'd like to know just how useful I am as a tutor. Who knows, if Professor Snape ever decides to retire, I might just apply for his post myself."
Harry laughed. "You'd be brilliant. A lot better than Snape." He was packing his things as well, though seeing as their lesson was practical, there wasn't much to pack.
Draco chuckled. "What about you, Harry?" When the black-haired boy asked him to clarify, he added, "Why do you want to be an Auror?"
For a moment, he didn't answer, and silence filled the room. Finally, he said, "It's what I'm good at, you know? Defence Against the Dark Arts. And I get to help people too, which, according to Blaise, goes with my Gryffindor complex."
While Draco chuckled at the joke, he also knew there was an underlying reason for his choice. He left his bag on the table and stepped towards Harry, who was still fiddling with his things. "Are you sure that's it?" he asked, stopping when he thought he was close enough. He didn't want to overwhelm the Slytherin.
"Yea—" the black-haired boy started to lie, but cut himself off. "I—" He sighed. "I'm Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. I have to become an Auror. It's what they all expect," he answered, bitterness seeping through his voice.
Draco knew exactly how that felt, and decided to tell him as much.
"If that's your motivation to be an Auror, then perhaps you shouldn't. You can't decide your own future based on what other people expect of you, and you can't spend your entire life pleasing some strangers who don't even know you. Sooner or later, you won't be able to meet the expectations set upon you." He paused, before adding, failing at keeping the bitterness out of his voice, "I should know."
Harry had looked up at him in the middle of his tirade and, for the first time in weeks, was actually looking at him, and not at somewhere behind him. "You..." The black-haired boy trailed off, as if trying to find the right words. His voice softened as he asked, "What expectations didn't you meet?"
Were this any other person, Draco wouldn't have answered. This was personal, something he'd never told anyone, not even his best friend Luna, and yet... With those emerald green eyes on his, the blond found himself answering immediately, "I should have been Sorted into Slytherin. Everyone thought I would be. Both my mother and my father's families had been in Slytherin for centuries. Those who weren't were usually disowned, like Sirius Black. And then I was Sorted into Ravenclaw."
Harry tentatively reached for his hand. Draco let him take it. "They disowned you?"
"No," the blond answered, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. "No, they didn't. But their expectations grew. If I'm not in Slytherin, then at least I must be able to do everything else. As the heir of two Noble and Most Ancient pure-blood families of Britain, I'm expected to follow the footsteps of my predecessors. I must take over my father's work with the Ministry, keep influential contacts throughout the Wizarding World, make sure to spread the traditional ideas that I now know not to be true, and other similar duties."
Harry gently squeezed his hand, trying to give him some comfort. "And you don't want to do that?" Draco shook his head. "What do you want?"
"I..." he paused. This question was very difficult to answer, if only because he'd never asked himself what he wanted. "I don't know."
Silence settled between them, which Harry decided to break with a whisper, "Everyone expected me to be in Gryffindor. But after my Sorting, everyone was wondering: How did the Boy-Who-Lived end up in Slytherin of all places?" He paused. "I think that's why I've been trying to please them in other matters. Because I feel like I let them down the very first time I had a chance to prove myself as the owner of that title."
"Harry... don't. You aren't just the Boy-Who-Lived. You're your own person too, and you should do whatever you want with your life, not what others want."
"That's the problem, isn't it? I don't know what to do either," the black-haired boy admitted. He paused, before adding, "You should take your own advice. It sounds like you need it just as much as I do."
Draco chuckled softly. "Perhaps you're right," he whispered. Green eyes locked on grey ones. Harry let go of the blond, and stepped closer to him, gently cupping his face between his hands. The Ravenclaw's breath hitched. The black-haired boy leaned in and kissed him. It was short and chaste, over almost as soon as it had begun. And then, Harry took his bag and left the room in a hurry, leaving Draco standing there, heart beating wildly, with a startled expression on his face and absolutely no idea what to think as he replayed the scene in his mind, except for one thing.
He sighed, the lingering scent of cheap generic soap washing over him. Merlin, I'm screwed.
Harry ran through the Slytherin common room, reaching the secluded spot where one of his best friends was sitting on an armchair, studying for her O.W.L.s.
"Pansy Parkinson!" he yelled as he ran towards her, dropped his bag on the floor, jumped onto the empty couch next to her and startled the few Housemates that were in the room. Most Slytherins were at the library for their study groups, but Blaise, his other best friend, was nowhere to be seen. "I need your help." The way he was spread on the couch, albeit face down, reminded him of all the psychology and therapy images he'd seen on books or on the telly. Not that any of his friends would understand or care about that reference, like the good pure-bloods they were.
Pansy looked up from her notes, an irritated look on her face. "If you've interrupted my studying on the day before the O.W.L.s just to talk about that silly crush of yours, I will feed you to the Giant Squid."
Harry groaned into one of the cushions on the couch. "That's the problem, Pansy," he told her, twisting in his spot so he was lying on his right side, facing his friend. "It's not a silly crush."
And just like that, Pansy was all ears. Concern on her face, notes forgotten, she leaned forwards on her armchair. "Harry... Are you sure? You know how dangerous it is."
"I know. Of course I know." Every Slytherin knew. Starting a relationship is dangerous. Your partner will know everything about you, including how to end you. Which is why Slytherins, with their sharp sense of self-preservation, were very careful when it came to dating – or, at least, whenever feelings were involved. "And I'm sure."
"And you think he's trustworthy?"
"I... I think? I mean, he hasn't told anyone about the cupboard thing, has he?" Pansy shook his head, and Harry sighed in relief. His friend was the school's gossip, and if she hadn't heard of any rumours concerning the Boy-Who-Lived and his deep hatred of cupboards, then there weren't any.
"And he did hex the Weasley twins that same day, just before dinner," Pansy mused.
"He what?" Harry sat up quickly. He hadn't heard of that incident. The morning after being locked in a cupboard, he found himself unable to get his revenge because, somehow, the twins had been badly hexed and had ended up in the hospital wing. And no one knew who had done it – it became even more surprising when neither twin accused anyone. "I didn't know that."
The look in Pansy's eyes was a very distinctive Oops. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, least of all you," she admitted. "But I was walking by when I heard the twins being hexed – badly – and I decided to take a look. It was Malfoy, and he was furious." She shook her head. "The infamous Black temper, I imagine," she commented. "He was going to walk away and then he saw me, and warned me not to tell anyone about it – especially you. And after seeing what he did to the twins, I wasn't about to disagree." The brunette inspected her nails.
"But... why would he do that?" he wondered. Pansy gave him a Look. The one she always gave him when he was being as thick as a brick wall. "What? What am I missing now?"
The brunette sighed dramatically. "The obvious, as usual." She gave him a pointed look. Harry still didn't know. "He, at the very least, cares about you. Enough to hex those Gryffindors," she wrinkled her nose, as if the word itself disgusted her, "for locking you in a tiny dark cupboard." Harry's face turned a bright red. "Look, Harry... do you think he could be it?"
"I..." He paused, trying to think it through, but really, there was only one answer to that question. "I don't think so. I just..." He took a deep breath. "I know he is. I just know." The look on Pansy's face softened. She knew exactly what he meant and how hard it had been for him to admit it. "Look, he told me today..." Another deep breath. And he told her. He told her what Draco had said earlier, about expectations and how important it was that he lived his own life. "I don't... I don't think he sees me as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived," he finished.
Pansy pressed her lips together, looking thoughtful. The black-haired boy waited for her verdict, holding his breath. Finally, she said, "I think you're right." Harry released the breath he was holding. "And, you know what? I approve. You've got my blessing, Harry."
The black-haired boy grinned. "Thanks, Pansy. It means a lot."
"I know, I know. I'm your favourite best friend." She winked. "I won't tell Blaise, obviously. You know how he is when he gets jealous."
Harry laughed. He was lucky to have friends like Pansy and Blaise, he knew. Did they take advantage of the fact that he was the Boy-Who-Lived? Of course they did. They would be fools if they didn't. But, and unlike most people in his House or outside of it who wanted to be his friend, they actually cared about him. And that, Harry knew, made all the difference.
As soon as he stopped laughing, the black-haired boy threw himself back on the couch and groaned.
With a loud, exaggerated sigh, Pansy, once again, lowered her notes. "What is it now?"
"I may have done something stupid, after he said... all of that," Harry answered. At her expectant look, he explained, "I kissed him." Before Pansy could say anything, he quickly added, "Well, not really. It was just a quick peck and then I ran off." He winced at his own words. "I fucked up."
"You did," Pansy agreed. He glared at her. She was supposed to comfort him, not make him feel worse! As if she'd read his mind, the brunette rolled her eyes. "You can fix it. Just go find him again and snog him properly, without running away this time."
Now it was Harry's turn to give her a Look. "I can't just walk up to him and snog him! What if he doesn't feel the same way? Hell – what if he doesn't think I'm good enough? I mean, he's the son of a Malfoy and a Black. As far as pure-blood families go, those are the best. And I'm just..." he gestured at himself, "me."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't care about all that 'pure-blood nonsense'," she quoted him.
"I don't. I must be spending far too much time with you lately," he attempted to joke. "Still, it feels weird. Like I'd be marrying royalty or something."
Pansy's eyebrow went up to her hairline. "Marrying?"
Harry went a bright red. "Wha— I— No, that's not— I just—" he spluttered. "That's not what I meant! I'm fifteen! I can't even use magic outside of school – I'm not going to get married just yet!"
"Good, because you won't be having a wedding without me there to plan it. That, and I'm sure Malfoy won't take it well if you start planning your wedding without even asking him out on a date first."
Harry's blush deepened. "I don't even know if I'm going to ask him out," he mumbled.
Unfortunately for him, Pansy heard. Her gaze went cold and her face adopted her trademark "I will accept no bullshit from you" expression. Harry cowered in his seat. He'd fucked up.
"Harry James Potter," she started, and the black-haired boy winced at the use of his full name, "I will not allow you to let him go, not after everything you just told me. After the O.W.L.s, you will go talk to him, ask him out, and snog him if you must. And you will not accept a 'no' for an answer.
"You will stop this self-pitying attitude right now. You think you're not good enough for him? You're the Boy-Who-Lived – you defeated the Dark Lord at age one! You don't get any better than that! And even if you weren't – didn't you just say he cared about you for you, and not the Boy-Who-Lived?" she reminded him. "Stop contradicting yourself.
"I did not postpone my studying just to listen to you pining after the bloke and not doing anything about it. You're going to take that Gryffindor complex of yours and use it to ask him out, or so help me, Boy-Who-Lived or not, I will complete and utterly destroy you. Am I being clear?"
"Crystal," Harry squeaked.
Pansy nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Good. Now stop being a whiny bitch and start studying. We have some O.W.L.s to pass. Besides, seeing how utterly pathetic you've been for the last ten minutes, you'll definitely need some time to gather that Gryffindor courage of yours to even walk up to him."
Harry blushed. Just then, the door to the common room opened, and none other than Blaise Zabini made his way inside. He headed for the corner where his two best friends were and took an empty armchair next to Pansy for himself.
"So... can anyone tell me why Harry's face is the colour of the Gryffindor banner?" he asked as a greeting. Pansy's eyes twinkled and the black-haired boy groaned. That wasn't a good sign.
"Why, Blaise, don't you know?" she asked, her voice sounding suspiciously innocent. She smirked as she told him, "Harry's in luuuuuv."
Blaise's laughter was so loud it attracted the merpeople to the window of the common room that connected to the Great Lake
Harry loved his friends, but sometimes, he wished they didn't enjoy embarrassing him that much.
It was the last night before they left Hogwarts, and Draco Malfoy was in the empty Astronomy Tower, leaning against the railing and taking a deep breath. He had passed all his O.W.L.s – all the students had received their results earlier in the day – and felt rather proud of himself. The only student who had received marks similar to his – perhaps even better, not that Draco would ever admit it – was that Gryffindor, Hermione Granger.
He hadn't talked to Harry since their last lesson about the Shield Charm, and had only seen him in passing in the corridors or eating in the Great Hall. Draco had no idea if his tutoring has been effective – or, at least, good enough for O.W.L.s – and, truth be told, he itched to know. Not that he could ask – at least not at the moment.
It was midnight and Draco was stargazing. He couldn't do it as much during the year because the Astronomy lessons for the younger students were always in that tower at that same time. The blond loved Astronomy – it was a Black family thing. All their names – including his own, Draco – were either taken from constellations or from Greek mythology – like his mother, Narcissa.
When he was too young to attend Hogwarts, he had several tutors, each of them teaching a different subject. Except for Astronomy. That, his mother had decided, was something she had to teach him, and no one else. It was a Black family tradition and she refused to break it. His father had allowed it, of course – there was little the two disagreed on – and so his mother had taken care of his Astronomy lessons, teaching the subject with such passion that Draco couldn't help but love it as well.
When Hogwarts started, the class he was most eager to attend had been Astronomy – but the Professor did not speak with the same passion as his mother, and was far more serious and analytical, enough so that most students found Astronomy a chore rather than a fun subject. Except Draco, of course. He loved Astronomy too much for it to be tainted by such a professor.
It had become somewhat of a tradition for him to come to the tower every night before taking the Hogwarts Express back to London for the summer. It was the one time he could look up at the stars without a neutral voice lecturing in the background, or students gossiping over their books and parchment. The one time he could be alone and appreciate the stars like he had when he was younger. And that new tradition was one he refused to break as well.
There was something different about that night, though. That night, he wasn't alone for long.
Eager footsteps could be heard and Draco tensed – the term was over, what would happen if he was caught? He'd never been before –, turned to face whoever would come – why postpone the inevitable? – and silently hoped he wouldn't be punished too harshly for being out of bed at midnight.
Then a person he knew all too well entered the room in a hurry, with a black mop of unruly hair, crooked glasses tilting towards the left on his nose, and emerald eyes sparkling in pure joy. The intense emotion in those eyes made Draco look away, pushing down a rising blush. The black-haired boy held a piece of parchment in his hands as well as a cloak he seemed to have discarded just before entering the room, throwing the latter aside as he made his way towards the Ravenclaw.
"Draco!" Harry greeted him with a grin. "I've got my results! I got an O in Potions!" he exclaimed, far too loudly for the blond's taste. If anyone found them there... The Slytherin quite literally jumped on Draco, arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him tight. The blond gripped the railing behind him as to not fall over and tumble down to his inevitable death.
"That's brilliant, Harry," he replied, slightly out of breath at being viciously tackled by the Slytherin. "Congratulations."
"Couldn't have done it without you," the black-haired boy mumbled, face buried in the Ravenclaw's neck. Draco did his very best to ignore the way Harry's breath ghosted across his skin. "Thank you."
All the snarky replies that had gone through his head upon hearing that first sentence disappeared immediately when he heard the boy's sincere, grateful words. He found himself replying "You're welcome," in a soft whisper, and with as much sincerity.
Draco didn't return the hug, still clutching the railing like a lifeline, and Harry soon pulled away. The blond immediately lamented the loss of contact, but before he could say or do anything, the Slytherin closed the space that had recently formed between them and pressed his lips to the Ravenclaw's.
This time, Draco's reaction was immediate. Kissing him back, he let go of the railing and wrapped his arms around the other boy's waist, pulling him closer. Harry's arms, still clasped around his neck soon let go of each other. His right hand was still clutching the piece of parchment with his O.W.L.s results while his left hand went up and buried itself in the Ravenclaw's pale blond hair. Draco deepened the kiss.
They pulled apart after what felt like an eternity, only due to their need for air. Their breathing was hard and loud, having refused to break the kiss until the very last moment. The two students remained there, unwilling to let go of the other, foreheads touching and eyes locked.
Draco's arms were still firmly wrapped around the black-haired boy's waist, and were quite unwilling to let go, especially considering what had happened last time. Speaking of which... "Don't you dare run away this time," the blond whispered, his grip on the Slytherin tightening slightly.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry replied, beaming at him, still running his hand through the blond's soft hair.
Satisfied with the other boy's answer, Draco pulled him in for another kiss.