1.
Harry likes to think sometimes that he has filled a certain quota for the amount of drama required in a lifetime, and that it all happened when he was a year old.
His father enjoys telling him this story when he has had too much to drink. Well, that's not true. James hates telling this story; his face twists and he reaches for a new bottle at twice the usual speed. But he tells it, each time waiting until Heather has left the house (because Harry's little sister is too delicate to know such things, even though she's barely more than a year younger than Harry, who has to hear it at least twice a week).
He isn't certain how much James remembers of these talks, but Harry sits through them patiently, because anything, even this horror story, is better than the screaming and the yelling, the nosy glances from the neighbours, and going back to his room after it all to find a huddled, shaking lump of sister under his blankets. Harry ends up staying up until dawn on nights like those, rocking Heather to sleep and waiting for silence from the other rooms, because, ironically, James takes longer to pass out when he has been up and moving around and throwing things. So Harry sits, and listens.
The story goes something like this:
James was on a mission. (It hardly matters what kind of mission, what kind of stupid question is that, James will say if Harry asks. He usually doesn't anymore.) All that matters is that James was on a mission for Dumbledore, the useless old man, and that slimy bastard, Snape, and that crawling lump, Pettigrew, told Voldemort where Lily was hiding with Harry and Heather. Sirius was staying with them that night (to help with the new baby, James will say, his face falling into a strange sort of fondness before snapping back to the familiar misery).
Lily and Sirius were killed, and Thank Merlin, James says, Thank Merlin Voldemort went after Harry before he saw Heather. Because Harry was immune to the Killing Curse, or Lily had been cleverer than even James had given her credit for, or something, James didn't know, but Voldemort's curse rebounded.
Harry can picture the wreck of his first home in his mind; he knows exactly the sound James made when he returned to find it that way. James makes that sound sometimes in the middle of the night, on those rare occasions when he has had only a few bottles of Firewhiskey, those nights when sleep is not merely unconsciousness, but nightmares. Heather knows the sound, too. She also knows the next part of the story, because James is rarely in his right mind, and the closing of a bedroom door is similar enough to that of the front door to pass.
James hunted down those greasy bastards, Pettigrew and Snape. He tells Harry how unfortunate it was that Aurors found him and his old friend together, moments before James would have made him feel the pain he caused. Azkaban isn't punishment enough for scum like that, he tells Harry, with a dull sort of cruelty in his eyes.
Snape was not so lucky. James wears a satisfied grimace as he says the name. Snape suffered.
And fortunately for our little family, James tells him, sometimes ruffling Harry's hair, sometimes staring off into the distance, Snape managed to get a parting shot in. James told the Aurors he had been attacked, that Snape tried to kill him. The Aurors gladly ignored the signs of a long, brutal torture and declared it self defence.
I love you, James tells Harry, when the story is done. I love you so much. You're my kid. You know? My kid. His eyes are still dull, and now they are wet.
Harry hears the words. He also hears what goes unspoken, what James is always thinking but cannot bring himself to say: You're Lily's. You have her eyes.
Harry sometimes thinks that this is what James is thinking when he goes into one of his drunken stupors, staring listlessly at Harry where he sits (always patient, always listening).
Despite the many, many hours Harry spends listening, he has heard very little about his mother from his father, aside from the obvious. He knows it's too painful to talk about for James, and he doesn't ask. Harry and Heather seek information from the pictures and letters that they find in James' room instead, the ones in the old trunk at the back of the closet.
Sometimes Remus gives Harry a small smile and tells him his mother would be proud of him. Harry likes to think so. Seeing her through James' eyes, as only the letters of their courtship allow, Harry has a sense of idolatry for his mother. She is the solid base around which he builds a foundation.
2.
At eleven, Hogwarts is both a relief and a torture. The story is all different, at Hogwarts. Different, but so much the same.
Thank Merlin, they still say. Thank Merlin he attacked you. Here, it is not that Voldemort's choice saved Harry's sister. Harry's something saved the Whole Wizarding World. Harry has not had much contact with the Whole Wizarding World. James allowed Remus to take care of most of Harry and Heather's schooling pre-Hogwarts, and Remus chose to hire tutors or, when the need arose, to teach them himself.
Harry has lived a comparatively quiet, sheltered life. Heather and Remus are all the friends he has ever needed. He finds that the Whole Wizarding World is loud, and wants to touch his scar. He is asked several times in just the first day.
At Hogwarts, he's alone. Heather isn't old enough yet to come with him, however much Harry misses her and hates leaving her alone with their father. He sends her owls twice a week, at first, until she finally tells him not to worry so much. She is fine. James is James. He's never tried to sit her down for the story, and Heather is unlikely to let him, anyway.
She isn't willing to sacrifice her time in the way Harry used to; she'll happily get up and walk out on their father when he gestures for her to sit and listen. He sometimes yells and throws things, but it's okay. She has invested in a sturdy lock for her bedroom, and they both know their father cannot wield a wand when intoxicated.
'He misses you,' she writes. 'But then, he doesn't really notice.'
Harry tries hard to fit in at Hogwarts. The awed whispers die down after a few weeks, though the hustle and hassle of daily life never does. Harry concentrates on his spellwork. His professors comment on what a quiet, studious little boy he is.
Harry has always been quiet. Yelling back when James is in one of his moods isn't something Harry has worked up the courage for just yet, despite knowing that the possibility exists.
Harry is sorted into Gryffindor. No one is surprised, including Harry. There's no way he could have gone anywhere else, and oddly enough, bravery has everything and nothing to do with it. James would never forgive Harry if he became a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff. Harry has carefully shut out what the Sorting Hat said about Slytherin, though the image of green eyes and a green and silver tie lurks at the back of his imagination.
There's a boy in Harry's year at Hogwarts, a Malfoy, who is always prodding at him. Picking on him. Harry isn't sure what he wants, but he knows the rules. Slytherins are scum.
He would never say it out loud, of course.
This Malfoy wanted to be friends with Harry at first, and Harry was too shocked to respond. Malfoy stood with his hand outstretched for long moments, waiting. It took longer than Harry would have thought for him to drop it, for his eyes to darken with rejection and anger.
This stays with Harry later, when Malfoy calls him names and plays malicious jokes on him. Harry takes Malfoy's malice as he has always taken James', and Malfoy is spurred to greater heights by what he sees as pity in Harry's eyes.
He tells Heather about Malfoy, who advises Harry to ignore him. James is drinking Ogden's and Remus didn't have a bag, she warns him. It's not a code so much as a habit of James' that both of them have come to know intimately. When James drinks Ogden's, he's in one of his worse spirals. There will be no nightmares for him, only unconsciousness for the next few weeks or so. They're on their best behaviour when James brings out the Ogden's.
Often, the worst of James' spirals is preceded by the best. When James is on the best end of things, the good side where he only needs maybe six bottles to get through the day, he and Remus sometimes disappear. They'll come back days later, and Harry and Heather can both tell by looking at Remus what will happen. Either James will pour two shots of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey and offer one to Remus with a near-smile, or he'll keep the bottle for himself, and withdraw to his study.
They have disappeared dozens of times, but James has only shared his alcohol on three separate occasions. Both siblings remember these three days distinctly: the hushed toast the two men make, referencing something called a horcrux, and the black bag that Remus will have slung over his shoulder. The one that wasn't there this time.
Harry stays far away from Malfoy, and instead strikes up a friendship with the most Gryffindor boy he has met, Ron Weasley. He writes home about it.
3.
When Heather comes to Hogwarts, the relief intensifies; his sister is safe. The torture intensifies equally. Their father is all alone now, with no one but Remus to keep him company.
And Heather is sorted into Slytherin. She's always been braver than Harry, in her own defiant way. Harry sometimes thinks she's more selfish, though he isn't sure if there's a difference.
As the years pass, Harry takes Heather's example and tries to be more brave. Draco Malfoy never does leave Harry alone, though Harry finds that he doesn't mind so much. Heather, who will always have more nerve than Harry, is friends with Draco. Heather, and Draco's goading, are just about the only constants in the shrill, turbulent world Harry has been thrown into at Hogwarts, and it's because of Draco that he finally finds it in himself to be loud.
Harry likes to think that he and Draco have an unspoken understanding: that very little of what they inflict upon each other is taken personally. He likes to think they start fresh every morning at breakfast. He likes to think that the way the corners of Draco's mouth lifted the first time Harry really yelled at him wasn't just his imagination.
When he goes home the summer after his fourth year, Harry yells back when James is feeling violent. He finds that it's the most freeing feeling in the world. He knows that James will never remember what Harry says; he knows he has the advantage of a wand, and that James is usually too far gone to remember that Harry isn't allowed to use it.
He shouts everything he has ever wanted to, every little thing that he has kept locked inside himself all these years. He yells and screams and blames and lets the hatred and poison seep out of his skull. He finds a sort of peace. When he goes to bed, Heather brings him a cup of tea with honey, for his throat, and a hug.
James still tells the story, but Harry has found still more bravery. Subtly, he steers the topic back to his mother: not her death, but her life. James tells him anything he asks. Alcoholic tears trail down along his jaw as he recalls her favourite colour, her favourite foods, the way she would sit with his head in her lap in front of the fire and trace the lobes of his ears while she read.
4.
Heather, as always, is well ahead of Harry in the bravery department. They are both short and athletic- both with wild, messy black hair. Heather's eyes are hazel like her father's, but a greenish hazel. In her fifth year, she chops all her hair off, to the same length as Harry's. The papers have always loved to gossip about Harry and his sister. The difference is that, where Harry shies away and keeps his head down, Heather decides to give them something to gossip about.
The Daily Prophet headlines blare at Harry during breakfast all through the first month after Heather's makeover:
HARRY POTTER CUTS LOOSE AT HOGSMEDE!
HARRY POTTER: PARTY BOY-WHO-LIVED?
BOY-WHO-LOVED-BOYS AT IT AGAIN!
Harry puts a stop to it after that. He has even found it amusing before, but now he talks to Heather and she talks to the papers. Unexpectedly, they print several retractions, and come out with a new headline:
WILD CHILD SISTER OF BOY-WHO-LIVED TELLS ALL!
Heather tells very little, in all actuality, but it's enough. From then on, whenever reporters see a short, dark haired person who looks shockingly like Harry, they assume it's Heather. This works very nicely to Harry's advantage, and he dreads his growth spurt.
5.
Heather used to borrow Harry's clothing constantly when they were little. Harry's just returning the favour now, as it's the only way he's actually able to leave Hogwarts without being mobbed. Reporters see Heather all the time and barely look twice - shy, reclusive Harry is the one they want.
It's on one of these nights, out in Hogsmede and wearing Heather's clothing, that Draco Malfoy approaches him.
Draco stumbles over to the bar and slumps on a stool next to Harry, who doesn't think, even after six years, that he's ever seen perfect Draco Malfoy slump (though according to Heather, he can be quite human when he feels up to it). Harry has drunk enough to recognise how incredibly not sober they both are, and to sense impending danger.
"I wish I fancied you," Draco says, slurring his words slightly. Harry blinks at him, bewildered, then remembers that his eyes are the wrong colour for this conversation and looks away. Draco doesn't notice.
"It'd be so easy if I fancied you," Draco continues. "It'd be great. Wouldn't it be great?"
He seems to expect an answer, so Harry shrugs and stares at the bar. Draco laughs quietly, deep and unfamiliar.
"Me too," he admits, and shrugs his shoulders, elegant even now.
"You're drunk," Harry says softly, hoping to disguise his voice. Draco laughs again.
"I am not," he says, patting Harry's shoulder. "I've only had the two drinks."
Draco is a lightweight. Harry is shocked at the warm feeling this produces in his chest. One could almost call it fondness.
"You know something?" Draco asks, using the hand on Harry's shoulder as leverage to lean closer. "I bet I could fancy you, if I tried hard enough."
Harry knows he should push Draco away. He should leave. He should let him see exactly who he's speaking with. Draco's hands are warm. The alcohol on his breath reminds Harry of home. When Draco's grip on Harry's shoulder slips and brings him closer, Harry knows that he should go.
Draco's mouth is sloppy and optimistic, and while he can't move away, Harry finds that he can easily move closer. Draco's hand is on Harry's thigh, and Harry is having difficulty breathing, despite being possessed of a working nose. It seems that Draco's lips have short circuited Harry's lungs, or his brain, or possibly his heart.
This is the thought (so terribly sappy that Harry thinks he might already be doomed) that shifts Harry's feet when none other has yet been able. Draco nearly falls off his stool, Harry moves so quickly.
He's back at Hogwarts, safely ensconced in Gryffindor Tower, before he allows himself to think again. He squeezes his eyes shut and twists his fingers in the bed sheets. Heather won't take the blame for this, Harry is certain. Which means Harry is most certainly doomed.
6.
The next morning, the headlines are a treat.
POTTER SISTER AND MALFOY HEIR: THE LOVE-THAT-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED!
When Harry graduates from Hogwarts, he plans to use whatever money is left of the Potter fortune to buy the Daily Prophet. He is going to fire everyone.
He looks unwillingly at the Slytherin table to gauge Heather's reaction. He can not bear to look at Draco. Heather has been reading the article and examining the picture (Merlin, the picture), and when she finishes, she meets Harry's eyes, bestowing upon him a saucy smirk and a raised eyebrow. She then turns to look down the table, where Harry knows Draco always sits. He thinks again about how much he doesn't want to look as his eyes drag themselves irrevocably down the line to Draco's blond head. He is looking at Heather, who shrugs and winks at him, gesturing toward the door.
Harry watches as they leave the Great Hall, feeling faintly horrified at what she might tell him, and worse, at the jealousy he feels toward his own sister. Draco as much as told him last night that he doesn't fancy her, but he also kissed Harry anyway. Harry tries to eat his toast and pretend he doesn't care where they've gone. He knows the other students are watching for his reaction, as they always do when one of these articles comes out. He ignores them, usually, and tries hard to do the same now, despite very much wanting to react. They don't need to know that he feels like jumping up and racing out the doors to keep Heather from telling Draco what she undoubtedly already has.
Instead, Harry finishes his breakfast and walks at a sedate pace out of the Great Hall, ignoring the stares and heading for Potions. Slughorn has always been a trial. Harry has no interest in any of the clubs or social groups at Hogwarts, and all Slughorn ever talks about is his Slug Club. He wants Harry to join quite badly, but like the reporters, he must satisfy himself with Heather. Harry is continually shocked at how good-natured she is about the whole thing.
Harry is thinking resolutely about Slughorn and the impending class, and so he is reasonably startled when a hand reaches out and tugs him into an alcove.
It's dark, but there's only one person who frequents this part of the castle and would be bold enough to grab Harry like they have.
"What is it, Heather?" Harry asks impatiently. He's going to be late for class in a few minutes. And he really doesn't want to know how Draco reacted to her news.
The alcove is silent, and as Harry's eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, he realizes that the hair is far too light to be Heather's. Not to mention, Draco has had his growth spurt already. His chin comes up to Harry's eyes. Harry bites his lip.
"Draco?" he asks, quiet now. Draco shifts, clearly nervous.
"I need to talk to you," he says, and then, in a rush, "It was you."
Harry nods, close enough that strands of his hair brush Draco's face. He would back away if he wasn't already against the wall.
Harry is waiting for Draco to talk, but from the stillness in the alcove, Draco hasn't even been breathing. Harry didn't really want to go to Potions anyway. They stand in silence for a few moments longer, and Harry wonders if he should ask a question, get the conversation started. He doesn't.
It appears that Draco has changed his mind about needing to talk. He lifts a hand and brushes his fingertips against Harry's cheekbone. When Harry allows this, he becomes more bold, tracing down Harry's cheek and along his jaw. Harry finds himself tilting his head into Draco's hand as Draco moves his fingers to Harry's lips.
He can feel Draco's hand shaking, and, feeling bold, kisses the pads of Draco's fingers. The intake of breath is worth it. When Draco's fingers slide to the back of Harry's neck, to be replaced with his mouth, Harry thinks it was more than worth it. Today, there's no alcohol on Draco's breath, just a strong minty taste that tells Harry that Draco hasn't eaten since he last brushed his teeth, despite having been at breakfast this morning. It's an incredibly intimate thing to know.
Draco leans his arm against the wall behind Harry, carefully keeping their bodies apart. He kisses Harry with none of the sloppiness from last night, and about half the optimism. Nevertheless, Harry gets the feeling that he's not being let go anytime soon, and decides that his mouth is too busy to object. Swiping at Draco's lips with his tongue, for example, yields fascinating results, and a distinct increase in Draco's optimism and proximity to Harry.
They break apart eventually, and Harry's eyes have adjusted enough to see that Draco is dazed.
Harry quirks his mouth into a smile, and receives a tentative imitation in return. Neither of them makes an attempt to move away. Harry rests his forehead against Draco's shoulder, tightens his arms around his waist, and basks in the warmth and heat surrounding him, listening to Draco's pulse. It's quick and distinctive, even through his school uniform. This closeness is almost addictive.
"So am I dating you or your sister?" Draco asks eventually.
That Draco would respect Harry's desire for privacy to the point of pretending to go out with Heather makes Harry smile, and then the word 'dating' catches up with him.
"Are we dating now?" Harry asks, his voice light. He can feel eyes staring at the top of his head, deliberating an answer. Draco's pulse races faster, and Harry tries to count the beats.
"Yes," Draco says decisively. "Unless you have any objections?"
Harry pulls away and looks Draco in the eye. This is something he's willing to be brave about.
"I've never had to tell the papers it was actually me in Hogsmede and that Heather was sitting innocently at school," he remarks. "I'm a bit worried they might have a collective heart attack."
Draco's laughter has a distinctive tinge of relief to it, and he pulls Harry into a fierce hug, burying his face in Harry's hair. Harry hugs him back and breathes Draco's warmth into his lungs, and wants to stay in the alcove forever.
7.
Later, after the papers have had their say and Hogwarts has grown used to its newest couple, Harry considers his father. He has, of course, been considering him from the start, but as the train leaves the station and Hogwarts becomes a distant speck on the horizon, Harry knows that the time has come to truly consider his father, and what Harry will say to him. He will need to call on every iota of bravery he has ever possessed, to come out of this summer with his own desires intact.
When Harry and Heather walk through the front door with Remus at their side, they see that the house is a mess. This is no surprise; James has never been a good housekeeper, and now that his children are not around to clean up after him, he lives for months in his own filth until they return. Remus does what he can, but he's away often.
James always says that Lily objected to house elves when it's suggested, and Harry couldn't imagine allowing a maid access to their father. Harry and his sister guard James zealously from the public eye. What little dignity he has left is polished carefully and kept in a glass case.
They find James in his study. Harry had nearly forgotten how their father can still smell like alcohol even when he hasn't been drinking. It's in his sweat, on his skin. He's been marinating for the past sixteen years. When Harry was younger, he would feel woozy just for sitting with him too long. Even today, he feels the fumes going to his head as he and Remus heft James' unresisting bulk out of the study and into bed. Heather will have a hangover potion ready in the morning, and Harry will polish his courage into a gleaming shield.
8.
Over the course of the summer, Harry learns a new story. He doesn't hear it while sitting patiently in a chair in the study. Their father yells it, snarls it, weeps it.
My children have abandoned me, James moans. Slytherins took their mother, and now they take them.
"Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor," Harry says at this point. Remus has told him this much, now that Harry is older. Remus has told him a great deal more than he ever learned from his father about life before the story began. "And Heather is a Slytherin, and you love her," he adds.
James ignores this, because it's true and because it doesn't fit. Harry wonders sometimes if, in the world James has been living in for the past five years, Heather is a happy Ravenclaw. James' ability to alter reality has always been impressive, to the point that broken lamps and overturned tables become, in the morning, the result of his overly active children's horseplay. He scolds them and tells them to clean it up, before disappearing into his study.
Somehow though, it seems that no matter how hard he tries, he cannot ignore his son's fraternization with a Slytherin boy.
Harry finds himself defending Draco Malfoy more and more as the summer progresses. James pulls up every possible reason under the sun for why Harry should stay away from Slytherins in general, and Malfoys in particular. Harry learns more about the sins and prejudices of that family than he ever wanted to. He is already well aware of his father's prejudices, never mind his sins.
Thus, through his arguments with his father, his summer correspondence with Draco, and all the knowledge Heather has gained about her fellow Slytherin in the past five years, Harry comes to really know Draco Malfoy, beyond the surfaces he'd already been aware of. James is adamant that Harry realise all of Draco's imperfections, his father's darker connections, his family's crimes and misdeeds.
Heather tells Harry, at his behest, what a whiny brat Draco can be, stubborn and sometimes vicious (though Harry already knew that from firsthand experience). She also tells him how possessive Draco is, how protective of those he considers his. She refuses to tell him how long Draco has considered Harry 'his', though she grins and gives conflicting hints whenever he asks (anything from, 'oh, a while', to 'not too long').
In his letters, Draco admits he is having his own problems at home, that his father is unappreciative of their 'association'. He also tells Harry he doesn't give a damn what Lucius Malfoy thinks, and takes an intense interest in James Potter's opinion on the matter. Harry is vague with his answers, as he is vague with everything about James.
9.
It is in the week before Harry and Heather are due to go back to Hogwarts that Harry finds he has enough bravery to make a final stand in the Malfoy Argument. He walks into his father's study to find him sitting calmly, his wand in his lap. It looks as though he's on an upswing, and Harry feels hopeful.
Come back, Harry, his father whispers. Please come back. I love you. Don't forget.
Harry is stunned. He blinks back tears as he opens his mouth to explain that he is here, and he will always come back, when his father raises his wand and points it at Harry.
Avada Kedavra, and Harry drops like a stone.
10.
Harry learns later what happens next. Heather comes into the room, and screams when she sees Harry on the floor, motionless. Remus arrives at the door not soon after, elated, with his sixth bag slung over his shoulder. He finds Heather on the ground near Harry's body, beating at her father's knees with her fists, sobbing and hysterical. He looks at James slumped in his chair, tears dripping onto his wand, two shots of firewhiskey on the desk.
Remus holds Heather close and they all wait. Heather doesn't know for what. All she knows is horror and pain and tears.
11.
Harry has spent this time somewhere dark. His eyes take time to adjust, and he eventually realizes he's in something approaching a hallway formed of stone, though he can't see beyond the first five feet or so. He notices other figures in the dark, and hears crying. He wonders if he is dead.
"Go back, Harry," a soft voice says. Harry looks for the source of the voice, and finds a woman, very familiar from the pictures in the trunk. Her eyes are bright and her smile is rueful.
"Mum," he says, his voice breaking. She pulls him close, wraps her arms around him, and holds him.
"You've done your part," she says. "I'm proud, of both you and your father. Please tell him. And tell your sister I love her, and she's wonderful. You both are."
Harry nods and tries to stay, tries to prolong the hug and fix the image of his mother in this darkened alcove in his mind forever. She disengages herself gently after a while, and kisses him on the forehead.
"Go live," she says, and pushes him away. He goes half-heartedly, but he goes.
12.
It doesn't occur to him to wonder about the crying until he's already waking up, opening his eyes and finding himself in his father's study with his family grouped around him.
He sits up and touches his forehead, where his mother kissed him. The deep scar that has always been there has faded, nearly disappeared. He wants to look in a mirror, to verify and marvel over this, but he's hauled to his feet and all the air is squeezed out of him in the next second.
He hugs Heather back, and comforts her as she sobs. Remus watches him with equal parts shock and enormous relief in his face, and James just smiles. Harry has never seen his father smile so genuinely.
Harry relays the messages from his mother in a quiet voice, and James abruptly stands and hugs him and Heather both. Remus chooses this moment to begin nursing his Firewhiskey.
Explanations are made, and Harry realises that something he has thought finished for years has only now come to an end. There will be no celebrations, no parades. Some of the underlying tension in the wizarding world will be relaxed, and that's it. Voldemort has been gone for years, after all, and all they've done is to make sure it's a permanent state. From what Harry can understand, a fragment of his soul is still out there, but it'll wither and fade without the support of his Horcruxes.
And Harry is alone in his head. He never knew how full it was until that extra piece was removed.
His father still has objections to Draco in particular, and to Slytherins in general. Now that his job is done, he picks up his bottle once more, though with admittedly less unfiltered need.
But in death, Harry has gained a certain entitlement. James is unable to protest Harry's claim on Draco Malfoy at the moment, though Harry has no doubt that he will return to his earlier arguments once the relief has worn off.
Harry is satisfied with this, and returns to Hogwarts with contentment in his veins instead of blood. When he finds Draco on the train, he immediately twines their fingers together and pulls him in for a deep kiss. Harry is pleased to note that he has finally gotten his growth spurt.
When they find an empty compartment, Draco smiles at him curiously, and Harry sees the full portrait he discovered over the summer. It's breathtaking.
"How was your holiday?" Draco asks, allowing himself to be led to a seat, though he seems surprised when he finds himself with a lapful of green-eyed boy; Harry is rarely so forward.
"It was very eventful," Harry says, settling himself in comfortably.
"Oh? I see you've gotten all tall and handsome since last year." Draco's comment is playful, and Harry's fingers deliberately brush against his abdomen as he reaches up to loosen the Slytherin tie that is obstructing his view of Draco's collarbone.
"According to you, I was already handsome," Harry responds, kissing him lightly. "Or was that just flattery?"
"Of course not." Draco tries to catch Harry for a longer kiss, and Harry allows it. "You've always been gorgeous," Draco continues, and Harry flushes at the compliment. "Although," he frowns, and pushes a lock of hair out of Harry's eyes. "Something's missing. What happened to your scar?"
Harry smiles and removes Draco's tie so that he can reach the buttons of his shirt underneath, causing Draco's breath to hitch and his eyes to darken, and making him forget about his question completely. Harry slowly reveals more and more skin, and decides he's gotten very good at this bravery thing. Maybe even brave enough to confess the intensity of his affection for Draco.
He leans in to kiss the collarbone he'd been eyeing earlier. "I'll tell you about it later."
A/N: About the whole James AKing Harry thing. I'm not suggesting that, in a rational world, this would be okay. In JK's world, though, people do absolutely insane things sometimes, and they're 'alright' as long as everything turns out okay. The ends justify the means fairly often in the wizarding world. Look at Dumbledore.
Also, magic aside, Harry and Heather grew up in an abusive household. Remus is canonically the kind of person who does not question his friends' decisions, who is not particularly strong willed. Is it so ridiculous for Harry and Heather and Remus to move past James's actions quickly? It would just go down as another awful thing James did, a bit extreme maybe, but actually one of the few awful things that ended up working out well, as not only is Harry still alive, but he got to meet his mother and Voldemort is dead for good now. In the skewed reality James has constructed in their home, this isn't that bad.
On the other hand, when Harry finally gets around to telling Draco what happened, I doubt he'll be quite so accepting.