If Harry could have been reincarnated into an animal, he would have picked a bird. Nothing felt more like home than the sky. Feeling the cool wind brush against his face, making his curls dance and his eyes sparkle; that feeling of freedom, of an unreachable horizon, as if he owned everything and nothing at the same time. The sky humbled him as much as it strengthened him.
His flight time had been brief—at least too brief for someone who could spend endless hours in the air. But Harry didn't want to abuse Draco's rare generosity and opted to lie in the short grass of the pitch instead. Shortly later, the blonde boy joined him; he looked to have flown for less time than Harry. He sat heavily on the grass, laid his broom on the side, and started playing with his shoelaces.
Harry observed him for a moment before he finally broke the silence: "It's strange to fly with you; last time it didn't go very well."
"Yeah, I remember; thank you," Draco growled.
Harry laughed. A laugh that was slowly growing on Draco as the weeks passed in his presence. It was quite rare to hear it, but in the few moments where it happened, Draco always felt a smile form in the corner of his lips. Harry's laugh was contagious.
"Well, the more I think about it, the more I regret having done that; it was pretty childish of me." The dark-haired boy admitted
Draco shrugged.
"The more I think about it, the more I think I would have done the exact same thing if I had been sorted in your house."
Harry turned his head to look at him. Draco was still sitting on the grass, so he could only see his back.
"No need to think about it; there's no way you could have ended up in Gryffindor," Harry teased him.
"True, I'm way too smart."
"Or cowardly."
Draco pivoted his head to throw him a glare, which made Harry laugh again.
Never in his life would he have imagined spending a Saturday morning with Harry, making him laugh rather than upset like he had used to do for the past five years. And yet, as strange as the situation was, it felt pleasant to be on this pitch beside him. He eventually laid down on the grass; the sun was getting high as noon drew near, making the two boys squint their eyes.
"There's a match next week; will you come watch us?" Draco asked in the most casual tone he could muster.
"I don't know—maybe."
Harry didn't sound utterly convinced by the idea; in fact, Draco could hear his skepticism in his voice.
"Why?" the dark-haired boy added.
He hesitated. As he stared at the bright sky, he wondered what made him want to see Harry in the stands on the day of the match. It would normally have been for mockery or simply to brag in front of him. But he hadn't asked him to come for these two reasons. He asked him because he genuinely wanted him to watch him play.
"Nothing, just asking," he answered.
He felt Harry's eyes lay on him for a few seconds before the boy turned his head to look back at the sky.
They were used to staying silent when they were together; rare were the times when they shared long conversations. Whether in class or in their spare time, they rarely spoke more than two sentences before falling back into a long silence. It didn't really bother him; his presence was enough.
He turned his head towards Harry; his eyes were closed, facing the glaring sun. The bright sun's rays shone down on the boy's face, illuminating his matte skin with a tint that approached the color of honey. Despite the intensity of the sun, he seemed at ease in its warmth. It was inconceivable at that moment to imagine that there could be pain behind that face. And yet...
Draco wanted to say something; he wanted to talk to him again about what had happened; he wanted to tell him that his two best friends were worried and looking for him; but he said nothing. He just watched him, with a look that slowly turned into contemplation, facing a face whose beauty he had until recently never perceived.
Then he looked down at the boy's left hand lying on the short grass. There was a thin scar on the back with thin words engraved, pale in his dark skin. His fingers were long and slender; they looked delicate and soft, like a piece of silk. He suddenly felt the urge to slip his hand under his and feel his skin from the tips of his fingers. Inconsciously, he slid his right hand toward Harry, the grass brushing his palm in a soft tickle.
"Hum hum"
The voice startled the two boys as if it had come to rouse them from a deep sleep. Draco violently pulled his hand away, and they both straightened up in a split second.
Umbridge stood a yard away from them, leaning forward with her hands behind her back like a mother about to punish her children. Except that she was far from having the temperament of a mother, it was much easier to compare her to a tyrant. Harry stood up, following the headmistress with his gaze, followed closely by Draco.
"May I know what you are doing here?" She asked accusingly.
"We're taking some air." Harry replied, unsure of what he could have done wrong.
She glared at him, shaking her head, before continuing;
"You know for a fact, Mr. Potter, that you are no longer allowed to fly?"
"Yes."
He hadn't controlled his voice when he answered, and he immediately knew his tone had sounded too arrogant. However, she didn't react—maybe she was getting too used to his insolence, or she didn't need that to punish him on this beautiful Saturday morning.
"So what are you doing here on this quidditch pitch?"
"Tanning."
Again, he hadn't thought at all before speaking. In all honesty, he didn't care what he said, the last few months had taught him that there was no point in trying with her.
"You're tanning…" She repeated.
A wave of audacity came over Harry; he had this strange urge to provoke her, to make fun of her—as his father would certainly have done. But when he opened his mouth once again with a slight smirk on his face, Draco stepped forward and spoke before he did:
"Potter didn't fly; you can see there's only one broom here." He explained by showing his broom on the ground.
"Who tells me he hasn't used it?"
Draco burst out laughing, which surprised not just Umbridge but Harry as well.
"I will never lend my broom to Potter."
He seemed convincing enough, since she did not contradict him. After all, in what lifetime would Draco have loaned his belongings to his worst enemy?
However, she didn't seem to be done with Harry. She turned back to him, her chin lifted as if she were trying to appear taller than she was.
"A classmate of yours told me about your absence from class yesterday," she glanced briefly behind her, and the two young boys simultaneously noticed Pansy standing several feet behind Umbridge, visibly dissatisfied to have been taken to the field with her.
"Do you have a good excuse for this absence?" "A note from the infirmary, perhaps?"
Harry thought quickly, but he couldn't come up with a valid excuse to escape her clutches. He shook his head slightly.
"I was sick."
"And you didn't go to the infirmary?"
"No"
Come to think of it, he had been there in the evening. But he hadn't taken any medicine for a stomach ache or headache, and he didn't want her to learn about his nose. It was far too easy for her to conclude that he must have started the feud with Blaise.
"Potter was unable to get up yesterday; he was doubled over with pain in his stomach." Draco spoke again to defend him.
Harry had a hard time not looking surprised, so he avoided looking at him and decided to play along by nodding his head.
"You can ask Professor Snape; he asked me to bring him a potion."
Harry nearly choked on his saliva. Why had he included Snape in his lie? His teacher would never lie to defend him. He was screwed.
"Is it true?" Umbridge asked Pansy, who was still standing away from them. "Come on, come closer."
The girl rolled her eyes and took a few steps towards the headmistress, carefully avoiding Draco's gaze.
"Is he telling the truth?" She repeated.
The girl shrugged, muttering that she didn't know.
"How do you not know? You were in potion class that day!"
Pansy had the misfortune to raise her head for a moment, and her gaze met Draco's. Harry's eyes swung between the two, allowing him to catch a glimpse of Draco's glare. He seemed pissed off, maybe even more than himself.
"Yes, it's possible," she whispered, lowering her eyes.
The atmosphere was becoming heavy in the field. Harry could see that Umbridge was looking for other arguments or ideas to punish him, but Draco had made it more difficult. Eventually she forfeited and menacingly reminded him to hold his ground before she headed back to the castle. Pansy didn't wait any longer to follow her without a word, but Draco didn't seem to agree.
"Wait for me." He slipped past Harry before striding over to Pansy and grabbing her arm.
"You, come with me." He told her before taking her to the nearest locker room.
She tried to fight back, while acting highly offended, but he persisted.
"Let me go, you're hurting me!" She complained when they arrived in the pitch-black, empty room.
He let go of her arm but stayed in front of her, pinning her between the wall and his body.
"What are you playing at?" He barked.
He wasn't used to talking to her like that, and she appeared surprised by this change of attitude.
"And you? What are you playing at?" She answered.
She rubbed her arm as if to tell him that he had been too violent. But he ignored it.
"Nothing."
"Then why do you hang out with him all the time?"
"I hang out with whoever I want."
"You speak out for him as if he were important to you!" She blamed him.
Draco looked at her for a long time; he didn't know what to say, and his anger prevented him from thinking.
"I know what I have to do. Stop meddling in everything." He finally responded through gritted teeth.
She frowned. "And what exactly do you have to do?"
"It's none of your business."
His flushed cheeks made it obvious that he was losing patience.
"I think it is my business. You've changed, and you're spending more time with him than with me." She said while crossing her arms.
Draco sneered, giving her a desperate look.
"Wait, are you jealous of Harry?"
"Harry?" She said, outraged, "Since when do you call him by his first name?"
He gave an eye roll. Although he hadn't intentionally said his name in front of her, he was also tired of having to justify himself. He leaned back slightly and tried to regain composure.
"I'm not going to warn you twice, you're minding your own business, you're ignoring Potter, and you're leaving it to me. Is that understood ?"
She stared at him defiantly for a moment, as if trying to understand his intentions behind those gray eyes that didn't show anything on the surface.
"Should I? Be jealous of Potter?" She asked quietly.
Draco didn't answer. She finally nodded when she realized that it would be pointless to argue with him.
(***)
Sirius' left leg was shaking up and down frenetically, making it occasionally bump against the table, where the glasses of the various Order members were shaking in unison. Remus ultimately had to put his hand on his leg to force him to stop, before saying:
"Any news from Dumbledore?"
Snape, who was sitting across from them, put down his glass of water Molly had just served him, and nodded in the negative.
"He must be hiding relatively close to the castle; he is never very far, especially with the current level of danger!" McGonagall asserted in a way that gave the impression she wasn't entirely confident about it.
"How are the kids doing? We don't have any news from them…"
"They're fine, Molly. All the teachers are making sure to keep them safe." Minerva reassured her, glancing insistently at her colleague as if expecting a sign of support, but Snape's nod was so quiet that half the table didn't notice.
"What about Harry?" Sirius asked. He wasn't hiding his lack of interest in anything not related to his godson, which made his school enemy roll his eyes.
"The boy is fine." He lied. "Only—"
"Only what?"
Sirius was sitting on the edge of his chair, one more move forward and he could fall off. He seemed at his wit's end; Remus had noticed that and feared that Snape would use it to his advantage.
"The boy appears to be confusing dreams with reality." Snape continued.
"How do you know?"
"Have you restarted Occlumency lessons with Mr. Potter, Severus?" McGonagall asked.
Snape nodded. He remained silent, however, on the reasons that had led him to change his mind.
"We resumed lessons a month ago. No improvement to note from the boy, without much surprise."
"Don't you dare try to hurt him, Snivellus; I'm warning you one last time; if I learn you're planning to help the ministry and Voldemort, I'll kill you with my own hands!"
Sirius stood, his hands resting on the table, his nails planted against the wood like a wolf about to attack. Snape glanced at the man's hands with an almost amused look before looking up at him.
"It doesn't seem to help you to be locked in here like a caged animal. The dog seems to take over the man."
"Be very careful what you do or say, Snape, or the next time I'm incarcerated, it may be justified."
Lupin stood up as well, only to put his hand on his friend's shoulder to get him to sit down again.
"Could you two act like responsible adults instead of getting stuck in your teenage bickering?! We're talking about Harry's safety here, you'll settle your accounts later."
The two men didn't answer, but Sirius sat back heavily in his chair, his eyes still fixed on his enemy.
When Lupin was sure neither of them would resume their argument, he sat back down with a sigh.
"Go on, Severus, what did you want to say about his dreams?"
Snape took some time to respond. A part of him wanted to tell everything, share the young boy's secrets, and explain what he had been going through at Hogwarts since Dumbledore left, but a bigger part of him silenced him on these subjects, Maybe it was the part of him that, against all odds, saw itself in the boy, the part that had also suffered repeated humiliations and did not wish to reveal them aloud.
"Potter's memories are blurring." He continued, "He seems less and less able to discern what really happened in his life and what constitutes only dreams —or, I'm afraid, false memories created by the Dark Lord."
"False memories…?" Arthur repeated. "But last time he had dreams, he saved my life; what makes you think they're not true?"
"The memories I saw look modified from reality; they are mostly memories about his friends. I believe the Dark Lord is slowly convincing him that his friends are mad at him."
"He's trying to isolate him, then." Moody grunted in conclusion.
The man was leaning against the door across the room, half his weight resting on his large cane.
"Yes. And I also believe he is directly communicating with Potter's mind. I think I heard his voice." Snape added with a sigh.
The room fell into a deep silence, leaving each member to reflect on this new and unreassuring information. Even Sirius had fallen silent. Snape looked around the room, still unsure of what he wanted to reveal or not. His eyes eventually landed on Sirius and Lupin, sitting across the table. They seemed confused and helpless in the face of this situation, in which they did not know how to play a role. The man let out a sigh. He hated them, and his resentment would never lessen. Potter was right; he would carry his teenage bitterness to his grave. And yet, something was growing deep in his stomach—an uncomfortable and alien feeling that was pushing his insides.
"Black, Lupin, I'd like to talk to you."
A horde of eyes fell simultaneously on Severus.
"In private." He corrected.
"Why? If it concerns Harry, we have the right to know!" Molly said indignantly, putting her hands on her hips as if scolding Snape.
He didn't flinch; he was staring at Sirius, waiting for an answer or a reaction, and when the latter got up to show him the door, he and Lupin followed him.
The three men went upstairs, where they settled on the old sofa. Snape hesitated, then sat down in one of the plush armchairs, his head racing quickly over what he wanted to say and what he preferred to keep to himself.
"What's the matter?" Sirius asked as he settled down on the couch.
Snape looked up at his interlocutor, as if reminded that he was not alone, and cleared his throat.
"I guess I should warn you about Potter's conditions at Hogwarts."
He had the two men's full attention.
"I lied when I said he was doing fine. As much as he's getting on my nerves, I have to admit it myself; his Slytherin roommates are not making it easy for him, and neither is Umbridge. I am quite certain it influences his ability to close his mind, but I also know how much harder he needs to practice before the worst happens. This is one of the reasons I resumed his Occlumency lessons."
It was as if he had just thrown a large rock at Sirius' head. The man glanced at his friend next to him, who looked almost as concerned, then refocused on Snape.
"What—what are they doing to him?"
The potion teacher sighed and shook his head. "All I can say is that they're testing his limits."
He didn't say more, as he perfectly knew how upset it would make them. It was evident that Sirius would probably act irrationally to protect the boy, potentially putting them both in danger.
"What, are they, doing to him?" The man repeated himself slowly. If his words had the power to torture Snape and make him spill the beans, the man would already be on his knees.
The look the boy had given him that day—a look filled with fear, shame; begging him to forget what he had just witnessed—flashed in his mind.
"If Potter wants to confide in people he loves, he will do it eventually, but I am not here to share his private life."
Sirius took a few steps forward and stopped right in front of him.
"And yet you seem to take pleasure in snatching it from him." He spat before pointing his tattooed finger right at the tall man's chest and adding,
"Maybe you don't want to go into details, which is very stupid of you, by the way, but I bloody hope you're at least doing something to help him."
Snape looked at him with disdain, as if watching a street dog bark at him.
"I'm fairly sure I'm doing more than you, yes."
"Oh, don't play that game with me, you know how far it can go."
The two men were now only inches apart, so close that their faces could catch each other's sputters as they spat their abuse. Remus stepped forward and grabbed his friend's arm to pull him back.
"Stop it…" He murmured to his friend.
Snape grabbed that opportunity to head for the exit, but before he passed the threshold, blurred images of a large man sitting next to a little boy flashed through his mind. He slowly turned around, his hand on the door frame, then asked one last question: "How much do you know about Potter's uncle?"
The two men still standing in the middle of the room frowned simultaneously. They were probably not expecting such a curious question.
"Why?" Sirius asked,
He paused before clarifying his question, "Do you know if Potter gets along well with him? What kind of man is he?"
"Not really." Sirius answered slowly; he seemed to be trying to remember some discussion with Harry, but nothing in particular came back to him. "He's never talked to me much about him, and I don't know him personally."
Snape then glanced at Remus, waiting for his answer.
The man was in the same reflective state, his lips were pursed, and his eyes narrowed as they stared at the vase on the table.
"I know he ran away when he was thirteen." He remembered—a memory that also hit Sirius, making him nod beside him. "But that's about all I know... I suppose he must not be much different from his wife, cold and against magic."
Of course, Severus already knew all that, which didn't help him.
"Why?" Sirius repeated, looking impatient.
Snape looked at him for a moment; he had only wanted to know more about this muggle man, and they hadn't been able to give him any information. He thus turned around and disappeared without a word towards the stairs.
"What a fucking asshole!" Sirius spat as he started pacing around the living room. "I swear, I'm this close to killing him."
Remus watched him ruminate, standing in the middle of the room. He felt helpless, they had learned so much and nothing at the same time. It was like reading a book whose first and last pages had been ripped off.
"I need to talk to Harry." His friend concluded when he stopped walking. "I need to know what's going on."
Remus gave him a look full of empathy, then moved closer to him to put his hand on his shoulder.
"Sirius, you know how Harry is; you know him; he won't talk."
"But I still have to try! I can't just stand there and wait!"
Remus wanted to say that yes, he had to wait, that it was better to let him come to them, but he held himself back.
"He will clam up if you force him to talk, Sirius."
"I can't let Snape torture and squeeze information out of him like that, I can't let those kids manhandle him, Remus! Wake up! You know perfectly well that I have to act!" Sirius exclaimed; he was almost yelling.
Remus grabbed each side of his head, "Sirius! Listen to me ! Hey, look at me!"
He tried to catch his gaze as he tightened his hands in his long hair, and then Sirius' gray eyes finally found him.
Sirius, calm down." He whispered, "We won't let him down, but right now there's not much we can do."
"We have the mirror!" Sirius argued, but his friend sighed.
"Yes, we have the mirror, which we can only communicate with if Harry uses it too. How many times have you managed to talk to him since you gave it to him?"
It was a rhetorical question. Remus knew as much as Sirius that they had only communicated with Harry once. They had both naively believed they would finally hear from the teenager frequently, but that was without counting the kid's annoying habit of keeping everything for himself.
"You have to trust the teachers at Hogwarts and his friends. For now, they are the only ones who can really help him. And I promise you, Sirius, everything will be fine.
His childhood friend looked at him for a long time; he didn't seem really convinced by his statements, especially the last one.
"I hope you're telling the truth..." He whispered.
Remus sighed. "I hope so too."
(***)
Harry finished telling his story with difficulty; it had been painful to relive all those recent events in such detail, but he had done it, and his heart was now a little lighter. He looked at his two friends in silence, waiting for their reactions. Ron was staring at him with an air bordering on disgust; he seemed surprised but also repelled by his story. As for Hermione, she remained silent, and her face was impassive, her brown eyes empty of emotion. He hadn't expected this; his fingers were squirming under the library table. He wanted to get up and run, but his legs were as weak as a newborn's. Hermione leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her gaze still locked on his.
"What reaction do you expect from us?" She asked in a totally detached tone.
Her question confused Harry. He looked at her with his mouth hanging open, unable to answer anything.
"You are the one who joined this house. You've been hiding your true nature from us for all these years, and you expect us to feel sorry for you?" She asked when he said nothing.
"I—"
"You deserve it," said Ron, "Everything that happens to you is your fault."
"If you attract so much misfortune, it's probably because, deep down, you're a bad person." Hermione added.
The library had become very cold, almost freezing. Harry felt his hair stand on end under his green uniform; his tie was choking him, preventing him from swallowing. He couldn't stand their stares, and yet he couldn't look away.
"You are one of them; now you have nothing to do with us anymore."
"You have chosen your side."
"Why are you talking to him? He's not worth it." Ginny asked. She had just arrived at their table, a thick book under her arm.
Harry looked up at her with the same shocked expression; he was well aware that he looked stupid, his mouth hanging open, but he couldn't help it; he was too stunned. Eventually he managed to get up, his flabby, trembling legs struggling between the tables. They said nothing when he walked away from them, but he could still feel their gaze fixed on his back. Groups of students from different houses watched him from their tables as he trudged his way to the exit. His nausea had returned; he wanted to vomit and had to close his eyes for a moment to come to his senses. When he opened them again, the words engraved on his forearm shone like pearls of blood before his eyes: "I should not try to be the center of attention."
Harry woke up with a start. The parchment his head was resting on flew off the table before he could catch it. He looked around quickly, only to notice that he was alone in the library.
"It's only a dream, it's only a dream," he repeated in a low voice when he finally came to his senses. And yet, this strange, heavy feeling took hold in his chest once again.
Since his last chaotic occlumency lesson, it was as if he had been living on automatic, as if he was not in control of his feelings anymore. He was guided by an instinct he sometimes felt was not his, and the voice kept coming to his ears every night, like a snake crawling through his brain, impossible to stop or avoid.
Confiding about what he was going through had been something he had considered at length; however, he hadn't seen his friends for the past few days, or more precisely, he had taken care not to cross paths with them. He knew deep down that it wasn't the solution, that it was actually the opposite of what he had been advised to do, but he couldn't help it. Passing them in the corridors inflicted a wave of anxiety, mixed with shame. Shame of what? He wasn't sure. The longer the days and weeks passed away from them, the more illegitimate he felt to come back into their lives, and the more he dreamed about them, the more certain he was about not sharing his struggles with anyone.
(***)
Harry had dreaded the deep void in his life that would follow, as well as the apprehension of returning to his dorm the next day. However, things turned out differently than he had imagined. Draco stayed constantly beside him when they were around the other fifth years. As for Blaise, his interest in Harry was fading like that of a child who grew tired of his favorite toy from playing with it too much. That hadn't stopped Harry from staying fully awake the nights that followed, causing him to doze off in various parts of the school during the day—most notably the library.
It was difficult to explain why, but his Slytherin life had changed since that day. His loneliness was filled little by little with relationships that he could never have imagined in the past. When he wasn't spending his free time alone under his cloak in the library, Harry spent most of his time with Theodore, and when it wasn't Theo, it was Draco, or both. And for the first time ever, he began to have real conversations with them without feeling misunderstood or embarrassed. Their evenings consisted of sitting in the common room by the fireplace, their homework on their knees, and their shoes off. They had taken possession of that corner, so no one even tried to take it after nine o'clock anymore.
The first hour was always all about work, and every day Harry was surprised to find out how academically gifted his two new friends were. Then, once their parchments were duly completed, they would start discussing various topics; usually, the discussion was opened by Draco, who seemed to be the most talkative of the three. It was hard to know why they had gotten so close in just a few days; he even wondered if it was out of pity, but he tried not to overthink it, his life being already stressful enough. Sometimes, when he found himself laughing at one of Draco's jokes or Theo's comments, Hermione and Ron's faces would replace those of his two companions, and a feeling of guilt would well up inside him. Did he really let them down? Was he becoming the person they depicted in his nightmares?
Friday's potion class was the ultimate ordeal for Harry. Not only he had to attend class with the Gryffindors, but he also had to spend an hour with Snape; the man who had witnessed his deepest secrets; the man who had surely seen Umbridge come to him and ask for proof of his absence.
As soon as Harry, Draco, and Theodore entered the room, he rushed to the back of the room, as far as possible from the table Hermione and Ron usually occupied. He felt immature to act like that, and yet he couldn't stop himself from doing it. If he had paid attention, he could have noticed that their faces showed anything but judgment and that, on the contrary, they sought to meet his gaze. But he avoided making eye contact with anyone throughout the entire lesson, concentrating on his cauldron, which, without Draco, would have undoubtedly exploded as his mind was elsewhere.
Snape didn't say anything that day; he didn't even mention Umbridge, to the point where Harry wondered if she had bothered to go talk to him. Maybe she trusted Draco enough; after all, he was all she valued most in a student. He noticed all the same that his teacher was more severe towards Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle, to the point that he made their potion disappear before it was even finished, even though it seemed much better than half of the other groups. This was probably the first time Harry felt grateful to him.
Snape didn't say anything that day. Nothing. Whether during this class or during his Occlumency lesson. He experienced his memories over and over again, sometimes fresh, sometimes old, sometimes new. Nothing seemed to make sense in his brain anymore; he didn't know how to answer his teacher when he asked him what was true and what was false. Everything seemed to be true; everything was surely true. Or was it all wrong? His mind was confused. Snape stared at him for a long time, silently, like a magizoologist studying a rare creature. He eventually lectured him for his lack of concentration. He gave him new exercises to practice every night, then let him go before the end of the lesson, pretending to have an important job to do.
He shuffled back up to the dormitory, and flopped heavily into bed, not bothering to wash or even change. When he turned his head to the right, his eyes met Draco's.
"What are you reading?" He asked in a low voice.
Draco folded up the letter and slipped it into his pocket.
"Nothing. Nothing important." He hastened to answer. Harry frowned but didn't insist; he was too exhausted.
"Are you okay?" Draco asked then, no louder than a whisper.
Harry nodded against his pillow, then, without realizing it, closed his eyes, only to reopen them the next morning.
(***)
It was game day. Slytherin versus Gryffindor Of course, Harry had known about it for a long time; everyone was talking about it in the hallways, and even the teachers seemed agitated by this event. There was a reason; their matches were always the most anticipated, surely because of the strong rivalry that existed between these two houses. Harry dragged himself towards the stadium; he followed Theo without much enthusiasm. They were late because of him, and he didn't want to find himself in the crowd of excited students on the way, for fear of crossing faces that were a little too familiar. Theodore ended up slowing down to walk by his side. They took a few steps together before he suddenly spoke:
"Why are you avoiding your friends?"
Harry turned his head towards him, surprised at this sudden question.
"I'm not avoiding them…" he lied.
Theodore choked back a laugh and shook his head. "Really? What must it be when you avoid them then."
Harry didn't answer. He'd gotten into the habit of just ignoring embarrassing questions, which Theo was getting used to and didn't really seem to bother him. It was as if he never expected an answer when he spoke to Harry.
The air was particularly heavy this Saturday, much more humid and heavy than the previous days. His tie was choking him, as it did every time he felt bad wearing that uniform. The closer they got to the pitch, the noise of the crowds growing louder until it vibrated in his ears, the more he remembered what was about to happen. Ron, Ginny, and Angelina were about to play a highly anticipated match without him. And not only will he not be on the quidditch pitch for the first time in his life, but he'll also have to sit in the Slytherin stands and wear their color. He was already imagining the next articles written by Rita Skeeter as well as future gossip in the halls.
"I don't think I should go." He announced, stopping suddenly as they arrived at the stands. Theodore stopped to turn to him, sighing. It was at least the fifth time he had changed his mind since this morning.
"Come on, Harry, it's about to start."
The young boy shook his head.
No, really, that's a bad idea." He insisted. "Go ahead, don't worry about me."
He saw Theodore scan the stands before finally approaching him.
"Umbridge looks far too satisfied in her seat. Don't give her that satisfaction."
Harry frowned, not sure he understood. He looked up in the same direction as his friend, and the headmistress' repulsive face came into view.
"That's what she wants—for you to deprive yourself of everything, even your favorite hobby."
"I rather think she expects me to humble myself in front of the Gryffindors." Harry corrected. But Theo shook his head.
"No, that's only if you keep sulking like you're doing now. You can also have a good time and enjoy the game, for once."
Harry's ego bruised, which must have shown on his face as a smile spread on Theo's face.
"Come on, let's go. I don't want to miss the first score."
He grabbed Harry's sleeve and continued on his way, giving him no choice.
Theodore was right; Umbridge's face changed drastically when she saw Harry sitting next to his classmate, chatting and joking.
He was not fooled and knew all eyes were on him—even the Slytherins. Theo continued to make him genuinely laugh. Harry suspected he was doing this to boost his confidence and show Umbridge he wasn't alone, like she might have expected. A wave of recognition washed over the boy, and when Draco appeared on the field, a smile on his lips as he saw Harry sitting in the distance, he realized something that stuck with him throughout the match: He had two new friends, and he cared about them.
Harry Potter's presence in the Slytherin stands remained the center of attention for the first ten minutes of the game, until the Gryffindor team scored the first point. All attention then turned to what was happening on the pitch, much to Harry's relief. Theo gave him a discreet wink, as if to show him that he had been right to trust him. He then slowly got caught up in the game. He tended to also applaud for the opposing team, or at least unconsciously tap his fingers under his long sleeves, but it didn't seem to bother his friend.
Ginny was a skilled seeker; he couldn't figure out if she was better than him, and he eventually realized he didn't really care. He was also surprised at the marked improvement in Ron, who managed to block almost every quaffle.
Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to guarantee their victory. Draco managed to catch the snitch thirty-five minutes into the game, after he gained enough speed on a downhill alongside Ginny. A large crowd started cheering from the Slytherin stand, and half of the students rose to run across the field and congratulate the players. Harry didn't know how to react. He looked up at the Gryffindor stand for the first time; they were all devastated, cursing and sighing at their first defeat of the year. His gaze inadvertently caught Hermione's; he thought he saw a small smile on her face, as if to tell him it was no big deal, but he immediately looked away. He glanced at the professors; Snape was clapping vigorously, between McGonagall—who seemed on the edge of the abyss—and the headmistress, who once again had her eyes fixed on Harry.
"Follow me"
Theo patted his arm and led him up the grandstand stairs that led to the pitch. It took him a few seconds to figure out where his friend was taking him, and when he realized they were heading to the Slytherin team, a horde of students had already piled up behind them on the stairs, pushing them onto the grass. Harry walked slowly, more than hesitantly, toward the green players. He saw Montague talking cheerfully to Blaise in the distance. Luckily, Theo was heading towards Draco, who was celebrating his victory with a golden snitch brandished in the air amidst a group of excited students.
Then, what had to happen, happened: the Gryffindor team slowly walked back to their locker room on the other side of the pitch, which made them pass by him. Some players decided to ignore him; others gave him a curt nod; and then Ron and Ginny brought up the rear. Harry first had the reflex to look down, like a punished child walking past his furious parents. As he was well aware that averting their gaze would not help him disappear, he eventually brought himself to lift his head. Theodore, who had just noticed what was happening, smiled at the two Weasleys, but they didn't even notice. Ginny gave Harry a short nod, she was drenched in sweat, her long red pigtail clinging to her freckled cheek. She looked exhausted, and extremely disappointed. Ron waved at him, and when Harry smiled, the ginger-haired boy took a step towards his friend:
"Hey Harry."
"Hi—"
Harry didn't get time to respond when a heavy green mass crashed against him, knocking him back two steps. It took him a while to realize that it was Draco, and as the boy wrapped his arms tightly around him, a sudden rush of warmth filled his body, his heart started racing in his chest at an unusual speed.
"We won! We're going to celebrate tonight, huh?" Draco exclaimed in his arms. Harry nodded dazedly. He didn't really share the same enthusiasm as him for this idea, but he didn't want to spoil his moment of happiness. The blonde teenager eventually let him go to take Theo in his arms, leaving Harry stunned next to him. He watched with wide eyes as he hugged Theodore, and his heart calmed slightly when he realized that he had simply decided to hug all the Slytherins in his path.
He turned back to Ron and Ginny, but both had disappeared from his field of vision. A sense of guilt arose in him; they must have witnessed the scene of Malfoy hugging him after beating them; they had certainly seen that he hadn't pulled away from his embrace or declined the idea of celebrating with the other Slytherins.
"I'll go change; can you wait for me?"
His attention returned to Draco, who was looking at him and Theodore.
"Er—Yeah, sure."
They followed him to the locker room, and leaned against the entrance, waiting for him. The excitement of their victory was palpable inside the room, and between laughter and team songs, their voices resounded to the other end of the field. Harry remained silent, his gaze lost on the crowd of students from various houses still lingering on the grounds. Most were trying to cheer up the Gryffindors, totally ignoring the few Slytherin students who were rejoicing at their first victory of the year, when a realization hit him: The Slytherin house was extremely solitary. He knew that they were partly responsible for it, their reputation having not been made on its own, but after two long months of living with them daily, observing the various groups of friends in the evenings in the common room, sometimes exchanging a few words with them, he realized that his opinion on Slytherin had evolved a lot. He was disappointed for Gryffindor to have lost, especially for Ron and Ginny, but on reflection, he also felt happy for his new house, and for Draco...
"What are you thinking about ?"
Harry jumped when Theo's voice cut him off from his thoughts.
"Nothing…"
Players were starting to emerge from the locker room, some fully dressed, others still in Quidditch outfits. The room emptied quickly, until there was no one left. Apart from one.
"What the hell is he doing?" Theo complained when Draco didn't appear with the others.
"I'll go check," Harry offered.
He entered the now-empty locker room, which stunk strongly of sweat. He eventually spotted Draco sitting on a bench at the back of the room. As he approached him, the boy noticed his presence and smiled.
"Hey, sorry, I took a shower." He apologized, "I couldn't wait any longer; I was sweating too much."
"Don't worry." Harry simply answered as he tried his best not to look at his bare chest. "You played well today."
He had no idea how to carry on the conversation. He leaned against the lockers and stared at the opposite wall. His throat felt dry, and his hands were sweaty against his pants.
"Did you just compliment me?" Draco asked with amusement.
He didn't answer. The urge to watch him grew in his stomach, and as much as he tried to stay focused on the wall, his mind pushed him to peek every time Draco was moving. His hair was wet from the shower he had just taken; it wasn't the first time Harry saw him with disheveled hair, as he lived with him, but he forgot every time how beautiful he was like this.
"Thank you." Draco ended up saying, to fill Harry's silence. "Weasley is a great seeker, perhaps not enough against me."
How arrogant, thought Harry. Although this extreme confidence Draco constantly showed was slowly growing on him.
"She plays very well indeed…" Harry muttered, more to himself than to his interlocutor, who was too busy to button his shirt.
Draco looked up and met his shifty gaze. "I think I prefer playing against you, all things considered. It's more challenging."
"You'd rather lose?" He asked in an overly honest tone that made the blond young man laugh.
"Must be that."
He continued to change in silence. Harry had no idea what he was doing there, patiently waiting for him, standing like a picket while Theo waited for them outside.
When the blonde boy finished dressing up, he slowly approached Harry and stopped in front of him.
"I'm sorry your friends didn't win; I kind of forgot what it would mean for you."
Harry shook his head, his heart starting to oddly race in his chest from the close proximity of his friend.
"That's the game," he mumbled, lower than intended.
Draco's face was getting dangerously close.
"Thanks."
Harry frowned. "For what?"
"For coming today."
Draco's gray eyes shifted to his mouth. Harry had never been able to observe his face in such detail before, he had never noticed how pale his skin was compared to his, nor how sunken his cheeks were, like a rock carved out by a water stream. He followed his gaze down and looked at his mouth in turn. His lips were slightly open, and before he realized it, they touched his.
Harry had only been kissed twice in his life, the first one being only five months ago. And yet, he instantly knew this was different. It was as if a thousand butterflies had been set loose in his stomach, fluttering wildly as he tasted his lips with hunger. Every nerve in his body tingled with a new sense of excitement as he let him explore his mouth in a gentle manner he had never imagined coming from him. Time had stopped around their intertwined bodies, and he savored this frozen moment, hoping that it would never end.
It could have lasted for ten hours or five seconds; he couldn't tell. When they eventually broke apart, Draco stepped back from him, his lips pink and humid, his eyes wide open, and his chest rising quickly as if they had just run a marathon. The boys stared at each other for a second, Harry's heart beating so fast that he feared Draco could hear it.
"Er—" Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out; he had no idea what to say. Should he laugh? Run? Or jumped back on him?
"I—Sorry—I didn't..." Draco stammered. He looked almost scared, as if he had just committed the biggest mistake of his life. He grabbed his bag and dashed to the door.
Harry didn't understand what had just occurred; he watched him leave without a word, rushing away like a thief who had just been caught. Then, his eyes lingered on Theodore, who was standing at the threshold, his hands in his pockets, and an indecipherable expression on his face.
Had he witnessed the whole scene? They looked at each other in an odd, almost religious silence before Theodore turned around to follow his friend outside, leaving Harry in the middle of the room, alone with his confusion.
"Fuck…"