One Week
It was honestly quite a relief to have Hermione know about them, all things considered.
Whatever roadblock there had been between Hermione and Draco before she had found was gone, replaced by a quickly growing friendship that no one had really anticipated, least of all Ron.
Every time either one of them did so much as laugh at the other's joke, he would lapse into a furious silence for the next ten or so minutes, sometimes until Draco was gone altogether.
Draco thought it was funny, but Harry and Hermione weren't nearly as amused. The way Ron was acting was scarily similar to his behavior around Slytherin's locket, right before he had left them.
Harry was confident that Ron wouldn't leave again, no matter how angry he got, but he could tell Hermione was not as certain. Every time he'd make a nasty comment or glare for too long at any of them, Hermione would raise sad and scared eyes to him, saying nothing.
He usually saw Hermione's expression and softened immediately, but other times he was in too sour a mood to notice anything else, stalking out at random times and upsetting everyone around him.
It was making Gringotts preparations especially difficult, especially seeing as they had only seven days left before they would put their plan into action.
Hermione still insisted that the easiest solution to the tension between the group was just to come clean to Ron about everything—after all, she really hated to lie to him. But both Harry and Draco were still extremely wary, and unsure of how Ron would even interpret the truth.
Harry knew as well as anyone that it was one thing to tell Ron, flat out: yeah, Draco and I are in love and it's really great and quite another for Ron to even take it the right way. The possibility of Ron taking that to mean Draco is controlling my lust-addled brain with his mighty penis, dear god man help me was just too great a possibility for the conversation to even be considered as worthwhile.
Until, of course, the day that Ron decided to come to him with a concern about Draco's…intentions. Harry had accounted for this, of course, and had a flat-out denial and cover story all completely prepared. He did not expect, however, to be completely unable to use any of it.
Ron was watching carefully as Draco and Hermione left the house again to replenish their food stock, shaking his head at their easy conversation. As soon as the two were gone, he turned to Harry with a mutinous look in his eye, leaning in conspiratorially to talk in a low voice even though they were now alone (save Griphook, who had taken to frequent walks around the grounds).
"Do you see it too?" he asked, and Harry repressed a sigh at the irritating vagueness of it. He realized with surprise that it probably wouldn't have bothered him a month ago.
"See what?" he answered instead, deciding to take the bait.
"Malfoy and Hermione," Ron pressed, as if his suspicions were obvious to everyone.
"She does seem to be refraining from strangling him—maybe she could give you pointers," Harry said.
Ron brushed off the jibe with a shake of his head. "It's more than that, mate—I think Draco's trying to seduce Hermione."
Harry blinked, and then let out a bark of laughter.
Oh, for fuck's sake, he thought. Can we not catch just one fucking break?
"Seduce Hermione," he repeated, and Ron nodded. "You sound like those romance novels your mum reads."
"Well, whatever, but you know what I mean!"
Harry sighed. "I don't think I do," he deflected. "Maybe you just…don't really understand their relationship so you…misinterpret it."
"They shouldn't even have a relationship for me to…not understand!" Ron exclaimed, flopping back in his chair.
"You can't dictate who Hermione has relationships with," Harry said seriously. "You know that."
Ron waved him off. "I'm not trying to control her or anything," he said. "If she told me she wanted to…faff off and marry Charlie this instant…I wouldn't feel like this. But this, between them, is a little too close to a Kneazle-Hippogriff situation."
"A what?"
"You know, the kneazle that blindly searches for stuff and then the cold hippogriff that just takes advantage of it." Ron explained, and Harry laughed.
"Like the lion and the lamb."
Ron looked at him. "Muggles are weird."
Harry shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you."
"About lions and lambs or about Hermione and Malfoy?"
"Hermione and Draco." Harry sat back in his chair, not looking at Ron. "I don't think there's anything there."
"You don't think," Ron emphasized, and Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing at the sheer irony of it.
"I'm fairly certain."
Six Days
"You know what might fix this whole thing?" Draco asked, sprawled comfortably across Harry's lap as Harry discreetly tried to braid his hair.
"What?"
"If Weasley just walked in, right now."
Harry dropped the strand of hair he was holding. "Don't tell me you're starting to agree with Hermione on that," he said, looking worriedly down at Draco.
Draco sighed. "Not exactly," he answered, "But it's getting so…tedious, almost. Having to hide."
"Well, it's not like things would change much even if he did know," Harry replied, moving on to a different section of hair. "We wouldn't be able to…do anything remotely like this in front of him."
"I know," Draco groaned. "I know, I know, I know."
On an impulse, Harry bent down and kissed the top of the blond's head. Draco started, surprised, looking up at him with a smile.
"It'll be alright," Harry said, undoing a messy braid with a pull of his finger.
Draco settled back down, nodding.
Harry's hands returned to his hair and Draco reached up in response, feeling Harry's fingers.
"Potter, what are you doing to my hair?"
"Shh, it's pretty."
Five Days
Tensions were high.
With the deadline for Gringotts fast approaching and an immeasurable number of 'last minute tips' from Griphook swirling around their minds, even Draco and Harry found themselves wanting to be completely alone—away from the pressure from Hermione to tell Ron, the animosity from both Ron and Griphook and the dizzying anxiety that gripped all of them whenever they thought about Gringotts.
Harry had taken to even more Occlumency lessons from Draco just to have an excuse to not think about anything for a while—and he didn't mind the fact that they usually turned into snogging sessions after a while anyway. But this lesson was supposed to be different, however, as Harry finally felt he was ready for a magical application of what he had learned.
"Now, this spell has been used on you before," Draco said, "so you'll remember what it feels like. Hopefully, though, you won't feel as…invaded, because I'm not going to go for very private or secretive memories. I'm just going to go to vague, neutral ones that you probably don't even remember."
Harry frowned, feeling suddenly unsure. "Then how am I supposed to resist it if I don't know what you're going to focus on?"
"Well," replied Draco, "while it's true that you'll usually know generally what you're supposed to hide from someone, they could root around in your head for all sorts of information that could give them to the information they want. For now, just focus on a memory and push it to the forefront of your mind as sort of a roadblock. Just a harmless, innocent memory."
Harry nodded, breathing deeply.
"Are you ready?"
Harry nodded again, mentally reliving the memory of his first Quidditch practice.
Draco raised his wand. "Legilimens!"
A flash of light and Harry found the memory's vividness increasing drastically. They were both almost slapped in the face with a brilliantly shining sun, commanding yells and sharp gusts of wind.
Teenagers in scarlet robes on brooms whizzed in complicated patterns all through the air, whoops of success and groans of failure accompanying harsh directions.
Harry saw himself, the young age of eleven, sitting on top of his Nimbus 2000, looking down at the scene below him with alarm and amazement.
"POTTER!" Oliver Wood bellowed. "I'M GOING TO RELEASE THE SNITCH NOW!"
Harry's eyes got even wider as he nodded, settling down into position on his broom.
Present-day Harry smiled unthinkingly, and the scene suddenly lurched violently, causing Harry to lose focus altogether.
The scene shattered and he had the short sensation of falling before he recognized what was happening, trying to cry for help as he landed in the backseat of Arthur Weasley's Ford Angela.
Harry realized that this was Draco's spell, and this was the memory he had chosen. With a sinking feeling, Harry knew he had broken past whatever defense was able to put up.
He watched absently as twelve-year-old Harry and Ron joked about the students on the Hogwarts Express, something Harry now found vaguely annoying.
The memory flickered again, and the light from the sun intensified, bleaching out the scene altogether.
Harry opened his eyes with a gasp and found himself in Draco's bedroom.
The blond was lowering his wand and tucking it away with an encouraging smile, making Harry roll his eyes.
"That wasn't at all a bad attempt for your first time, Harry," Draco told him genuinely, as if Harry had spoken his sentiment out loud.
"You just pushed past that memory!" Harry replied. "There wasn't any defense at all!"
"That's not what happened." Draco said calmly. "What happened is that you broke your focus. Granted, I wasn't pushing as hard as an attacker would, but I wasn't able to break the initial defense of that memory. You stopped pushing once you saw its potency and got distracted. That's when I was able to pinpoint a weak spot."
Harry looked down, feeling embarrassed.
"That makes sense," he mumbled.
"Are you ready to go again?" Draco asked suddenly, and Harry looked up at him in surprise.
"Already?"
"If you want."
"Okay, wait," Harry said slowly, concentrating on his task. "So I focus on the memory and I hold it there, don't let you push past it."
Draco nodded. "Do you have another memory?"
"Mhm."
"Alright then." Draco raised his wand once more. "Legilimens!"
They found themselves thrust almost violently into another memory, the ground below their feet resurfacing into the hard and patchy earth just outside The Burrow.
Newly-seventeen-year-old Harry sat with Ron at the base of a tree, Harry seemingly absorbed and amused by Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches, and Ron reading over his shoulder with a grin.
Present-Harry could almost hear the laughter Draco surely felt, but he only focused harder on the memory. He set about recalling the intimate detail, focusing intently on the wind that day, how bright the sun was, what parts of the book made Harry laugh and which parts Ron insisted worked like a charm.
He suddenly felt an immense pressure closing in around him, and around the memory, and immediately recognized it to be Draco.
He pushed back, but the pressure had already thrown him off. The memory didn't change, however; it merely shifted.
He could hear a snake hissing, he could feel cold stone up against his back—no, wait—
He fought back on instinct, ignoring the surge of panic and shoving his mind away from the graveyard and back to The Burrow, that stupid book—
Almost immediately, he felt another attack push down further, and he could see, briefly, a glimpse of a full moon.
Burrow, he thought, Burrow! Burrow!
It materialized in front of them again on Harry's command, but Harry didn't have to keep it up for much longer before Draco lifted the spell.
He gasped for air, perhaps unnecessarily, as he was thrown back into reality. He felt Draco's arms around him at once before he shoved him off, backing away and pressing a hand to his head.
"What the hell, Draco?" Harry panted, glaring at the regretful-looking blond on the other side of the room. "You said you weren't going to go for those memories!"
"I'm sorry," Draco apologized immediately. "I lied. It was another exercise."
Harry exhaled, his breathing returning to normal. "Fuck."
"I'm sorry," Draco said again.
Harry looked at him, allowing the blond to come closer. "It's alright. Just don't—can you not lie anymore?"
Draco hesitated, but nodded. "That should be fine."
"Okay then," Harry said, reaching a hand out for Draco.
Draco took it and pulled him in closer, brushing a hand across Harry's forehead to move the hair out of his eyes.
Harry got the impression Draco was making sure he was completely okay, so he held still as Draco tried to subtlety complete a routine check. After he was done, Draco sighed and rested his hands solidly on Harry's shoulders. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay, really," Harry assured him.
"That last one was…surprisingly effective. I couldn't get past your defenses at all at first," Draco said encouragingly, and Harry smiled in response.
"You're a good teacher."
"Are you tired?" Draco fretted, his eyebrows drawing together.
"Nope," Harry lied, stepping closer to Draco. "Not at all," he whispered, dropping his head close to Draco's ear.
Draco laughed, and gently moved Harry away from him. "Yes you are. I know you didn't get much sleep last night, and Occlumency is very tiring."
Harry pouted. "It's been too long," he whined.
"What has?"
They both jumped violently at the sound of Ron's voice, coming from the door that they had stupidly left open.
Harry's mind went blank as he stared at Ron, who was looking expectantly at them both.
"Pancakes," he said thickly, blinking. "Draco said he didn't feel like making pancakes."
"I said that I don't have the ingredients," Draco pretended to correct him smoothly, rolling his eyes. "Hermione and I didn't get flour at the store."
Ron's eyes narrowed. "I'll go with her to get some, if it means that much to you."
Harry bit back an exasperated sigh.
"Sure," Draco replied quickly. "I was going to take a nap before our meeting with Griphook."
"Okay then," Ron said stiffly, nodding and walking away.
"Jesus, that was close," Harry exhaled, stepping further away from Draco.
"Did you ever even go to church?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows at the 'Jesus'.
Harry snorted. "'Course I did. Well, until I was five. Every Sunday."
"What happened when you were five?"
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Harry smiled. "I started presenting my magic, I think," he responded. "Aunt Petunia must have thought I was beyond saving at that point. They still went, but they left me at home. It probably had something to do with their reputation as well."
"Did you ever believe in that, though?"
Harry looked at him in surprise. "Are you asking me about religion?"
Draco pursed his lips, looking unsure, but nodded.
Harry blinked. "I never thought about it," he replied, the actual thought entering seriously in his mind for the first time. "It never seemed…I don't know, real? It never mattered."
Draco nodded slowly again. "What about Hermione?"
"Her family never went to church," Harry replied, remembering her off-handed response to one of Ron's questions, one lazy day years ago. "She probably thought about it more than I did. Why?"
Draco shrugged. "I don't know. The whole thing…it seemed so ridiculous to me for so long. It was something so Muggle…but I realize that's a bit hypocritical of me."
Harry looked at him curiously, trying to keep the skepticism out of his face and voice. "You think there's something to it, then?"
"No, not really," Draco shook his head, a wry smile forming as he dropped his gaze. "It's just…the whole Savior thing, the reassurance of…fate, and comfort…I guess I can see the appeal."
Harry nodded, and they were both quiet for a long time.
Draco eventually breathed out, somewhat breaking the silence. Harry looked at him.
"I can't speak for the Holy Trinity," Harry said slowly, "Or…the universe, Ying and Yang or whatever—"
Draco cringed. "Merlin, Potter, I know more Muggle history than you do."
"—or whatever! I can say, though, that I won't let anything happen to you. Or, rather, I won't let it…not be okay in the end. We'll be okay."
Draco smiled at him fondly. "I knew you had a hero complex, but this whole divinity thing is a new level."
Harry closed his eyes and grinned, flipping up two fingers at him.
He received a pillow to the head in response.
Two Days
Harry was nervously pacing the hallway that connected the kitchen to the living room, turning the Invisibility Cloak over in his hands and trying to decide what to do.
Everyone was asleep—Harry didn't know what exact time it was but the moon through the tall and narrow windows was his only light source as he moved, trying to be as silent as possible.
It was a surprisingly still night; usually, summer nights in Amsterdam were, in Harry's experience, fairly noisy. In the nervousness that accompanied his undecided plans, Harry found he missed the duet of the cicadas and crickets that usually served to keep him up. April had brought wind and rain, but May was proving to be a very peaceful month for weather.
Harry shook himself—weather should be the last thing on his mind.
They were two days out from their Gringotts heist, and the only big unknown in their plan was, at this point, Harry's Invisibility Cloak.
Everyone except Harry and Griphook remained adamant that Harry was not to try and test its protection—that they would do that the day of and call it off if it didn't work. They seemed to think there was more safety in numbers, but Harry didn't think they could afford to be so cautious.
There wasn't time to wait any longer. Voldemort was closing in fast on Hogwarts and had been trying to set up camp there for weeks.
Draco's Occlumency lessons were helping in shutting most of the visions out, but the strong flashes of anger or triumph or frustration still got through, and he'd sometimes wake from sleep with the vague concept of information, usually only unsettling him. He had the feeling they were rapidly running out of time.
The plan for Gringotts absolutely had to go well.
He made up his mind with this last thought, striding quietly into the kitchen, towards the stairs.
"Mate?"
Harry whirled around at the sound of Ron's voice, sleepy but wary.
"Hey," Harry replied weakly. "Just wanted some air."
Ron eyed him suspiciously as he walked down a few more steps. "No, you were going to see if the Cloak worked in Diagon Alley."
Harry blinked down at the material at his hands. "No use in asking 'how'd this get here', then?"
"It's dangerous," Ron said simply.
"Well damn, I wish I had some experience with dangerous situations," Harry deadpanned, balling the material in his hands up defiantly.
Ron stepped down a few more steps and into a stream of moonlight. Harry noticed he was dressed.
"I'm coming with you," Ron announced, holding his arms out as if to show off his clothing.
"Ron," Harry said, completely surprised.
"No, I am. If you're going to do something mental, then at least respect tradition and do it with me." Ron said determinedly, marching to Harry's side.
Harry looked at him for a moment, feeling a slightly shameful surge of happiness at Ron's sudden loyalty. "Alright," he agreed, turning and descending the stairs to the bottom level of the house, Ron right behind him.
"I didn't tell Hermione about this, by the way," Ron told him, careful to keep his voice low.
Harry nodded. "God, they're going to be so mad when they find out."
Ron shook his head. "What's Malfoy gonna care?"
Harry fought back a frustrated sigh. "Believe it or not, he would care if one of us was suddenly captured by Death Eaters."
Ron didn't reply immediately, but Harry could sense his dissatisfaction.
"I dunno, Harry," he finally sighed. "I just can't…trust him."
"Didn't I tell you to give him a chance, though?"
"It's just so hard to! I feel like the second I let my guard down, he's gonna…do something to you. Or Hermione."
"Can't you at least trust me when I say he won't?" Harry tried.
"You know I trust you, mate, but I just can't believe that." Ron replied grimly.
Harry fell silent as they reached the bottom floor, not really wanting to voice his true thoughts.
He was beginning to think that Ron's protectiveness didn't have so much to do with Draco and had more to do with the guilt Ron still felt about leaving them. Somehow, it seemed to be making him feel like everything that had gone wrong since his return—the Lovegoods' house, Malfoy Manor, Hermione's injury—had been his fault.
He pushed all of that out of his mind for the moment, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.
"We should Apparate outside," Harry reasoned. "The noise should be lesser."
Ron nodded and they moved quietly out of the house, exerting a lot of care into opening and closing the door as silently as possible.
"Harry, we're idiots," Ron whispered in his ear as they moved across the lawn.
"Why?" Harry asked, stopping short.
"We're wizards," Ron answered, drawing his wand. "Which means we can do a Silencing Charm."
Harry blinked, feeling embarrassed. "Oh."
At least it was Ron with him instead of Hermione, or even Draco.
Ron cast Muffliato on the house as a whole and another on both him and Harry, nodding sort of unnecessarily to Harry once he was finished.
"Alright," Harry started, "I was thinking that we should Apparate in the same place Draco and I ended up the last time we came to Diagon Alley. I don't know exactly when the spell should activate, if it does, but we should be under the Cloak the entire time."
Ron nodded. "Alright. Let's go, before I have a chance to change my mind."
Harry grinned at him. "You wouldn't."
Ron rolled his eyes as Harry threw the cloak over both of them, making sure they were covered completely before taking a deep breath and Disapparating.
They landed, invisible, in the same alley Harry and Draco had landed in what seemed an eternity ago.
They stabilized themselves, checking to make sure they were both invisible before looking around, hardly daring to make noise.
It was impossible to tell if he had set off any magical alarm, Harry realized. Either the spell was completely silent, or he hadn't set it off yet. Or both. He stood, almost pressed up against Ron, both of them rigid with tension and straining to hear yells or shouts or something.
They heard nothing, and with a nod of his head, Harry suggested they move on. Ron nodded back and they moved carefully towards the front of the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry opened the door and they stepped forward quickly, relieved to find the pub completely empty, save Tom at the bar.
This surprised him—Harry had fully expected Tom to be asleep in these early morning hours, but he was cleaning his station by candlelight, a tired and haggard look on his face.
Tom looked up immediately, a wary expression on his face, but upon seeing no one, his expression fell to one of exasperation.
"Damn door," he muttered, shaking his head and resuming his activity of wiping the counter.
Harry breathed again and tugged on Ron's arm to signal that he was ready to move again. Ron nodded again in Harry's peripheral vision and they moved slowly and quietly towards the back of the bar, desperately trying not to make any noise in the silent bar.
Even with Ron's Muffliato on the both of them, it still seemed that Tom could easily hear the shallow and restrained breathing of them, the quiet press of their shoes on the wooden floor or the rustle of their clothes as they moved past him.
As they finally moved past the doorway that put them out of Tom's sight, Ron slowly drew his wand as Harry continued to walk towards the brick wall. Ron tapped the right brick and they looked at each other grimly as the bricks gave way to the entrance, the sight of the Alley in the middle of the night no less depressing than the sight of it at noon.
They stepped forward, and Harry inhaled expectantly.
No alarm sounded, but he hadn't really thought anything would alert him to the spell's presence.
"Maybe it's not…on," Ron suggested, but Harry shook his head.
"No one would be that lax with security," he replied.
They walked forward again, keeping a keen eye out for any large men (or large women, Harry supposed) charging towards them.
They got as far as 100 meters before they stopped dead in their tracks: two men in uniform were walking casually down the street towards them, talking amicably about something that didn't matter. One laughed as the other's story seemed to reach a climax, the noise disproportionately loud in the quiet atmosphere.
Ron clamped a hand on Harry's arm and they quickly shuffled to the sidewalk, watching the two guards pay them absolutely no mind.
The bigger one shoved the smaller one playfully, the name "Stamford" accompanied with a string of curses as they passed Harry and Ron.
They watched as the men retreated from view, disappearing down a side alley and leaving Harry and Ron alone once more.
"Ron," Harry dared to breathe. "I think it works."
It was some fifteen minutes later that they arrived back at the Cornelissons's house, yanking the Cloak off of both of them and balling it up.
Harry grinned as he stuffed it under his arm, shhing Ron's victorious laughter.
"They're still asleep, Ron—" he began, but stopped completely at the sight in front of them, Ron's laughter also abruptly dying as he saw it too.
Hermione Granger striding furiously towards you in the darkness of the night in her dressing gown was among the scarier things Harry had ever seen, and he considered for a moment Apparating back to London. He was reminded, for a moment, of an early morning almost six years earlier, and Mrs. Weasley giving her three sons the telling-off of a lifetime about a flying car rescue mission.
Flanking her was Draco—with the same expression of fury on his face and evident even in the way he stalked towards the both of them. Harry swallowed.
Oh, shit.
"RONALD WEASLEY!" Hermione shrieked, her voice filled with what seemed to Harry like a thousand matriarchs before her all screaming at once. "HARRY JAMES POTTER!"
"Hey," Ron greeted faintly, smiling weakly, raising a hand. Harry wondered absently if this would always be the way he dealt with an aggressive Hermione.
Harry switched his attention to the Slytherin marching towards him, completely silent compared to Hermione's screaming.
Harry avoided Hermione with a side-step, wincing as he almost heard the lightning crack as Ron started arguing back. He waited nervously until Draco reached him, the blond stopping five feet in front of him and crossing his arms, staring at Harry with a deathly cold expression on his face.
"I'm sorry," Harry apologized immediately, and he meant it.
"YOU LEFT AGAIN! YOU WERE GONE, AND HARRY WAS GONE—" Hermione was yelling behind them, and Harry jumped at the mention of his name.
"You didn't even bother to tell me," Draco said, his words sharp and abhorred. "You didn't leave a note—I thought you could be dead and I wouldn't even know."
"Of course I wasn't dead," Harry replied quietly, looking behind him at Ron, pale white and horrified as Hermione yelled. He stepped closer to Draco.
"You could have been." Draco said. "You absolutely could have been. And then where the fuck would we all be?!"
"I had to!" Harry protested, and Draco exhaled angrily.
"And HARRY!" Hermione screeched, voice strained and breaking, whirling around to face him. Ron looked viable to pass out. "HOW THE HELL COULD YOU LET HIM LEAVE?! AFTER THE LAST TIME?!"
Harry's blood ran cold as he digested her meaning. How the fuck did he not think of that?
"We didn't…we thought we'd be back before you even woke up," he defended himself, but the argument was weak and everyone knew it.
The storm in her eyes flashed. "You drove Draco and I sick with worry. We had no fucking idea what happened to you, you didn't tell us anything—"
"Oh, so glad he was there too," Ron mumbled, quite audibly, and Harry resisted the urge to literally Vanish him on the spot.
Hermione went completely still, as if someone had petrified her. She turned slowly back around, her incredulous and slightly hysterical eyes again on Ron, who looked terrified but unapologetic.
"What?" she asked, her voice dripping with poison.
"Ron, fucking hell, mate," Harry tried, but he was ignored.
Ron met Hermione's stare relatively steadily. "How can you accuse me and Harry of lying and sneaking around when you and Malfoy seem so close—"
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Hermione interrupted, her voice even deadlier.
"Well, isn't it true?" Ron demanded, and Hermione let out a shriek of laughter.
"You are—how can you—after the last time this happened—Harry!" she said suddenly, facing him once more.
Harry's eyes widened and he took a step back. "What?" he said, faking ignorance.
Hermione stared at him for a second, disbelieving, before turning to Draco. "And you?"
Draco stared back, seemingly frozen, his anger at Harry momentarily forgotten.
"Harry, what's going on?" Ron asked, and that seemed to evoke some anger from Hermione again.
"Fine!" she said, spinning back around. "Do you want to know what's been going on?"
"Yeah, I do!" Ron replied, his voice rising in volume.
"Hermione," Harry whispered desperately, as his mind caught up to what was happening. She wouldn't dare…would she?
She ignored him completely.
"Draco has not been shagging me," she told him factually, her voice steely. "He has, however, been shagging Harry for…oh, about a month now, right?"
Harry's heart stopped beating as Ron immediately swung around to face him, uncomprehending.
For the first time in his life, time stood still for him.
He stared, detached, at Ron's face, which was steadily morphing from an expression of bewilderment to an expression of shock with each passing millisecond that Harry wasn't outright denying anything.
You could deny it, he thought, but dismissed that immediately. Ron would believe Hermione over him any day. Anyone would. You could…run.
That was the appealing option, and he could see out of the corner of his eye Draco tensing to do just that.
But he couldn't do that either, mainly because while it might buy them some time, they'd ultimately be in the same place by the time they stopped.
You could come clean.
How was that his last option?
He sighed, closing his eyes.
When he opened them again, he saw Ron still staring at him, his expression still exactly the same, frozen somewhere in between disbelief, confusion and horror.
He realized abruptly that he had nothing to say, no words to try and placate him—so he merely raised a hand, shrugging slightly.
"Go ahead," he said simply, his mouth pressed into a grim smile.
Draco snorted.
"I'm going to kill you," Ron hissed suddenly, his attention snapping like a rubber band from Harry to Draco.
Draco's eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, and he even edged centimeters closer to Harry.
"Ron, don't kill him," Harry said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. Why did exhaustion always have to hit him so suddenly? "Can't we go inside? I can barely see anything, it's still dark."
Without a reply of any sort, Harry turned around and started walking back the house, Draco immediately appearing at his side.
"Are they coming?" Harry muttered to Draco, not wanting to look back over his shoulder.
"Yeah," Draco replied, checking quickly. "Oh—and I'm still completely furious with you."
Harry sighed. "Fantastic."
Harry found he didn't much like it when everyone in the room was extremely angry with him. The truth was that everyone in the room was at some sort of fault and the target of hostility was shifting often.
Hermione, apparently, was on the more innocent side of things—she seemed to regret her reveal but ultimately stood by it, occasionally looking challengingly at Harry or Draco.
Ron, though, was obviously leading the current discussion. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish, as he looked from person to person, trying to think of a way to start.
"This is exactly why I thought we should hide it," Draco finally muttered to Hermione, who sighed.
"Are you fucking insane?" Ron asked, as if the question had been forced from his mouth.
Draco looked at him, surprised. "Um."
"Is this what's it's all been about, then?" Ron went on, his mouth in a hard line and his eyes murderous. "Rescuing Harry—helping us, being nice to his friends—all to shag him?"
"Of course not!" Harry burst out, feeling as if the entire situation would soon spiral out of control.
"Malfoy?" Ron pressed, raising his eyebrows.
Draco's jaw tensed. "No," he replied firmly.
"How could you go along with this?" Ron whined, turning to Harry abruptly.
"I actually started it," Harry confessed stupidly, and then bit his tongue. Because that's what he does, he makes situations better.
"That's true, you did kiss me first," Draco recalled unhelpfully.
Ron shuddered. "He's tricked you. Coerced you. How can you not…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "This is sick."
"I didn't know you were so conservative, Weasley," Draco drawled, his words obviously not serious but the flash of anger in his eyes all too true.
Ron glared at him. "That's not what it is at all, Malfoy. Of course it isn't."
"Just me, then?" Draco clarified, and Ron let out a breath of incredulous laughter.
"Yes! Obviously!"
"But Ron," Hermione interjected desperately, "don't you see that this is good?"
"Good?" Ron repeated. He looked at her, astounded. "Malfoy's years of obsession with Harry—years—it's finally culminated, in the middle of war, right after he defects—and none of that is suspicious? You don't think anything of that?"
"Do you think Draco's, like, controlling me with his dick?" Harry suggested wildly, throwing his hands up in the air. Draco visibly held in laughter. Ron looked aghast.
"I don't think anything of it," Hermione answered Ron's question after a pointed glare at Harry. "It makes perfect sense."
"How?!" Ron cried.
"You said it yourself, Ron—remember? You said Draco needs a purpose to fight. This is his purpose!" Hermione tried, and Ron just stared at her.
"I have always loved Harry," Draco said, and Ron's head whipped around to him, mouth falling open. Harry flushed almost inappropriately, the words familiar but still a shock in his system nonetheless. "In the back of my mind. Whenever I was starting to question things. When I've hated everything, I've loved him."
"You hated him," Ron reminded him. "Tormented him!"
"I hated what he stood for in my life," Draco corrected. "I hated him for making me question everything. For fucking my life up. For making me want to fight for myself and for everyone else like he does. And I…handled that…indelicately."
"And what the fuck's changed?" Ron challenged.
"Having to identify you at h—in Malfoy Manor," Draco answered readily. "That was it. That was when I had to choose—I either had to let him go entirely or surrender to everything Harry Potter brings with him." Draco smiled wryly. "The fight for justice, the drive to protect the ones you love."
Harry inhaled deeply, remembering to breathe. Wasn't that supposed to be an involuntary instinct or something?
"You love him," Ron summarized, and Harry breathed out in relief, noting the absolute lack of venom from Ron's voice. "That's why you…that's why you're doing this."
"It was a fairly large catalyst, yes," Draco answered quietly, looking more and more uncomfortable. "Are we done?"
Ron still looked fairly shell-shocked and Hermione, Harry could tell, looked like she was ready to yell at someone again.
But Harry didn't care. His eyes were on Draco now, and the waves of vulnerable emotion he could almost hear crashing around him.
"Can all other shit talking take place in the morning, please?" Harry said, barely hearing his own voice.
Draco looked at him, some of his tension easing with a smile. "Harry has to move back into my room anyway."
Ron grimaced. "Merlin, give a bloke a minute to adjust!"
"Get used to it," Draco replied lazily, standing up and stretching. Harry got to his feet too, casting a parting glance at Ron (still clearly in a semi-permanent state of shock) and Hermione (looking exhausted but relieved) before all but running from the room, right behind Draco.
"We made it out of there alive," Draco remarked, shocked, as he and Harry hurried down the hallway.
"Well spotted," Harry replied, and Draco rolled his eyes.
"Unless Ron's faking and he's going to smother me with a pillow in two hours," Draco reasoned.
"Two hours?" Harry frowned. "I don't know if I'll be done with you in two hours."
Draco stopped, firmly ignoring the burst of sudden desire he could feel in his abdomen. "You seriously think you're getting laid tonight?"
Harry stopped too, looking at Draco curiously. "Yes," he replied simply.
"I think you're forgetting I'm still very angry with you," Draco said, folding his arms.
Harry pouted, and Draco found that he was having trouble summoning enough energy to do anything other than smile in response.
"Aha!" Harry grinned back triumphantly.
They decided to hold off on moving Harry's lone sack of possessions back to Draco's room until morning—namely, because it was all the way down the hall and not very conducive to where Harry wanted to be.
Consequently, they both fell down on Draco's bed and instantly curled up around one another.
"You can't do stupid things anymore." Draco tells him, pressing his lips to the top of Harry's head.
"Aren't we breaking into Gringotts in…a day?" came his muffled reply, and Draco had to laugh a bit.
"Okay. Don't do stupid things anymore without me." He amended his earlier statement, absently running his hand along Harry's forearm.
"What if you don't let me?"
"Then don't do them, arsehole."
"Draco," Harry sighed, and it wasn't a protest. It wasn't a refusal, it wasn't an acceptance. It was just his name—breathed quietly and reverently.
Draco stopped talking, curling the arm he had draped loosely around Harry into both of them, hugging Harry tighter.
"You scared me." Draco said. It was all he really needed to say: Harry shifted and raised himself to look into Draco's face, finding his eyes easily even in the very limited light they had.
"I'm sorry."
Draco exhaled and reached a hand up to cup Harry's face, sitting up so he could press a slow kiss to Harry's lips, reveling in the idea that they no longer had to rush this, no longer had to hide it.
Harry moved almost leisurely so that he was eventually pressed against the entirety of Draco's body, keeping the kiss languid and sensual.
"Mmm," Draco hummed appreciatively, dropping his hands to skim down Harry's back and lifting his shirt slightly up, just enough so Draco could splay his fingers across the expanse of Harry's skin, making the boy on top of him shiver slightly.
"If Ron does come in here with a pillow, I promise to defend you," Harry vowed, in between kissing Draco's now slick lips and his forehead, nose and cheeks—light and easy little touches that made Draco's chest tighten and ache.
"Malfoys don't need defending," he replied, as haughtily as he could manage in his current position.
"Perhaps I should leave, then," Harry suggested, his voice a low rumble in his throat.
"You think I have you here as a precaution?" Draco asked, shaking his head as if scandalized. "You underestimate me, Potter."
Harry laughed, the sound tucked away against his neck, and Draco held him closer, riding the wave of fierce affection he felt until his eyes hurt to stay open.