The sound of the celebrations could be heard outside the common room. When Harry walked in, he was greeted by excited teenagers, glasses of alcohol clutched in their hands, dancing and shouting to deafening music. It was hard to imagine such an extreme atmosphere when Gryffindor won a match. It felt excessive, and everything that was prohibited on the school grounds seemed to circulate among students. Harry snuck through the crowd full of kids already losing control of their sobriety. It wasn't even late; the game had ended less than an hour ago, and the sun hadn't set yet.
No matter how much Harry looked around the room, scanning all the faces, he couldn't spot Draco. His mind was consumed by his kiss; the feeling he had experienced at that precise instant had not evaporated. And as he slipped between the students, he had this weird impression that everyone knew what had happened. It was as if Draco's lips had impregnated his own, leaving a visible trace detectable by every pair of eyes resting on him. And yet, there was nothing on his lips, and no one knew. Apart from one.
He saw Theo at the back of the room, he had just come down the stairs leading to their dormitory, and He was making his way to one of the tables where a row of butterbeer bottles were lined up. Harry took a deep breath and approached him. He met Pansy's gaze on the way; she seemed upset, and looking closer, he could see her red eyes, as if she had been crying. But Harry did not linger on her; he arrived in front of Theo, who was drinking alone from the bottle.
"Hey—I'm look..."
"He's upstairs." He cut him off.
"Oh, right. Okay." Harry replied. A wave of embarrassment spread throughout his body. How much had Theo witnessed earlier?
The boy finished his drink and put it down on the table before looking back at Harry.
"Go!" He pressed him, "I'm not going to be able to keep them here all night." He pointed to the fifth-year group with his head.
Blaise was laughing out loud in the midst of his friends, a glass of firewhiskey in his hand—and obviously not the first.
"Oh, yeah, ok, thank you, Theo." Harry babbled.
His friend nodded, then headed towards their roommates, while Harry slipped between the drunk teenagers and walked up the stone stairs. The door was halfway open, Harry took a deep breath before stepping inside. The dormitory was plunged into a deep silence; only the dull echo of the music and the hubbub from downstairs could be heard. If Theo hadn't told him that Draco was here, he probably would have turned back.
And yet his friend had spoken the truth; he saw the teenager lying on his bed, arms outstretched and one leg hanging out. He seemed lost in thought, totally still and silent, staring up at the ceiling. He walked slowly towards him, and unconsciously, his heart accelerated with each step that brought him closer to Draco. When he was close enough to make himself heard, Draco sat up abruptly; he seemed as anxious as him, maybe even more. Harry settled down on his bed across from his, and the two boys looked at each other wordlessly, as if time had frozen. It was hard to guess what Draco was thinking; his cheeks were rosy, almost flushed, contrasting with the paleness of his complexion, and his eyes showed embarrassment but also what seemed like a form of worry. The sun was starting to set behind the long, high window that separated their beds, an orange glow came to rest on the dark floor, like a halo of heat between their feet.
Harry finally spoke up, unable to wait any longer.
"Hey…"
"Look, I'm sorry—" Draco said suddenly, cutting him off before he could add anything.
Harry closed his mouth. He had not come to him to receive an apology.
"I don't know what came over me; please forget." Draco continued; he was speaking particularly fast, as if he wanted to justify everything before Harry could answer. "That was stupid of me, and it meant nothing."
Harry almost felt offended.
"So you didn't mean it?" He asked with a tinge of disappointment in his voice.
Draco looked up at him, as if trying to read his feelings.
"I—No. No, of course not. I'm sorry I did that."
"You didn't like it?"
Yes, I did; I mean, no—" He looked confused; he kept staring at Harry but wasn't sure he understood what he meant. He looked adorable. "Did you?"
Harry smiled softly and nodded.
"Oh." It changed everything. "Well, actually, me too." Draco muttered. His face had softened for a moment, but it didn't last long. He stood up briskly to pace in front of his calm friend.
"But it's wrong, it's bloody wrong!" He exclaimed, then turned to him; "Do you realize what I did?"
Harry frowned and said, "Yes."
Yes, he realized, he had been kissed by Draco, and he craved for thousands of new ones, over and over, and over.
However, the blonde boy seemed way more doubtful about it.
"It's bad, what I just did, It's really bad."
"What is bad?" Harry asked. He knew, but he wanted to hear it from him.
Draco stopped walking and sighed deeply.
"I—I just can't, Harry." Their eyes met. "You can't understand."
"What can't I understand?"
"My parents, my family—they'd kill me!"
Draco immediately realized what he had just said. "I'm sorry—that's not what I meant—"
Harry shook his head and said, "It's fine, you're right. But you know," He pretended to look around the room,"I don't see your parents anywhere around."
Draco scratched his nose nervously; Harry had noticed he tended to do that when he was in a situation where he had difficulty being in control.
"Of course they're not here, but you know what I mean—"
They fell silent for a whole minute, Draco still standing in front of his bed, his gaze lost toward the window, while Harry observed a random corner of his bed leg.
"Do you even want this?" Draco eventually asked.
"What?"
He looked down at Harry, "Me, us—"
Harry pondered in silence, looking through the window. The sun had finally hidden behind the mountains, leaving the moon and stars to lead the night.
"Maybe—yeah, I think I do." He heard himself respond. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted, but one thing was certain: his heart hammered violently every time his mind diverged to Draco.
The boy standing in front of him shook his head.
"You realize how insane it is, right?"
Harry shrugged, "Yeah, I've been told I like attracting danger."
"But I don't want to be a source of danger—"
He sounded honest, and Harry hadn't heard such a sincere compliment in a long time. He slowly stood from his bed to reach Draco's level. He smelled soap, the same almond fragrance every Quidditch player carried when they showered in the locker room. Harry had smelled like this many times too, he loved that scent.
They were close once again. The loud music breaking the silence their two bodies were settled in reminded him of the scenes he saw in the movies his aunt used to watch—those romantic movies that looked unrealistic so they were perfect—those movies he used to peek at secretly from behind her, wondering if that was how people loved each other.
"You should go celebrate your victory," he whispered, even though he hoped he would stay.
Draco smiled for the first time, a smile quickly concealed by Harry's lips. They didn't need any words to understand, Draco wanted to celebrate with only one person: him. He felt his long fingers reaching his cheek, then his black curls. As unimaginable as it was, this kiss felt even more wonderful than the first. Huddled against him, it felt like the falling-asleep moment where all the worries slowly fade away to let the brain slacken and let go, totally lightheaded.
They stepped back and fell on Harry's bed without letting go of their intertwined lips. Harry's glasses slipped down his nose, and with a laugh, he swiftly removed them. Then Draco went down along his neck. Thousands of shivers ran through his body; he couldn't keep his eyes open. His tie started choking him again, so he blindly loosened it, and when Draco noticed, he removed Harry's hand before proceeding to take off his tie for him. His hand then slipped under the boy's shirt, while his mouth was still busy kissing every inch of him. Harry tried to let go, but he realized he was holding his breath, his stomach tucked in under Draco's fingers.
"Hey, breathe, Harry."
He opened his eyes to see Draco's gray pupils under furrowed brows. He exhaled and felt Draco's hand slide to his side. It almost tickled.
"Are you okay?" Draco asked with a concerned voice.
He nodded. Everything was fine. Everything was perfect. Then, in a moment of mutual trust, Draco moved his face close to his while his right hand laced through his hair. It was easy to get lost in his thick, unruly locks, where curls wrapped around wandering fingers, and Draco seemed to like it as he kept sliding his hand in.
Harry felt reassured by the gentleness—almost awkwardness—in Draco's gestures. It made him wonder whether it was his first time. But it couldn't be—he was so popular and so confident that he must have kissed plenty of girls before. And yet, all that uncertainty in their moves, as though they explored unknown yet exciting territory, made him believe he didn't have much more experience.
Draco eventually removed his shirt by pulling it from behind his head with his hand. He was beautiful in every way, which made Harry feel conscious of his own appearance. Something Draco didn't seem to even consider, he bent back to him, his fingers gently holding the sides of his face, his thumbs stroking his temples as he kissed him for the umpteenth time.
"Fuck, what are we doing—" Draco whispered against his lips, which contorted into a smile,
"Honestly, I don't know."
Draco started unbuttoning Harry's shirt with one hand while their legs tangled on the mattress. He could hear his uneven breathing coming back, making him slow down a little.
Harry's shirt was not fully open when noises echoed in the staircase. They both turned their attention to the door, which luckily remained fully closed, but the dangerously approaching laughters made Draco rise to his feet, his shirt in his hand.
"Hum—maybe not the best time," he mumbled before sitting back on his bed. Harry sat up with a small grin, his cheeks pink and abnormally hot.
"Yeah, maybe."
As Draco headed to the bathroom, he laid a last, gentle kiss on the corner of Harry's mouth.
And without knowing it, that kiss in the locker room would change the course of their lives into something perhaps too big for them, although they refused to admit it yet.
(***)
Unfortunately, as the OWLs were dangerously drawing closer, their free time quickly got filled with a tremendous amount of work, making their burgeoning relationship harder to keep as the main focus of their lives. Harry had stopped counting the hours spent in front of his books, reading the same line over and over while his mind couldn't focus on anything else than the teenager beside him.
"Harry, wake up. You're almost done."
The teenager raised his head, which had been resting for more than ten minutes on his parchment. Draco and Theo were sitting in front of him, their books closed and their work already packed in their bags, ready to leave. They had been working at the back of the library for almost three hours now; the sun threatened to vanish, and the pouring rain was singing relaxing lullabies to his ears, making him feel even more exhausted than he already was.
"Do you need any help?" Theo offered, surely out of pity.
Harry looked up at him; their friend had oddly never spoken about their kiss or about the party they hadn't attended, even though Draco was the main reason for their victory. Harry felt grateful for his leniency and lack of unhealthy curiosity, but he also felt somewhat embarrassed for him.
"No, it's fine. You guys can go first." He said with a yawn he didn't manage to suppress.
"You sure?" Draco asked.
Harry nodded, and they got up from their chair. As they walked past him, he felt the hesitation in Draco's hand to touch his shoulder, but the teenager refrained from doing it, and only smiled.
"We'll see you in the common room, don't work too late." He whispered before following Theo down the narrow aisle toward the exit.
Harry sighed. In no scenario did he want to stay in this dim library, alone with his textbooks, when he could have spent the rest of the evening with Draco. If he hadn't procrastinated like he tended to do on a daily basis, his night may have turned out differently. "You're so stupid." He muttered to himself before grabbing his feather and starting working again.
"Hey Harry!"
The boy jumped, and a large stain of ink spread on his parchment.
"Oh, sorry, did I scare you?"
He looked up at Luna, who was standing where Theo had been seated five minutes ago. She looked oddly happy, with her colorful attire and odd pieces of jewelry—if it could be considered that way.
"Hi, Luna. No, it's fine—"
He hadn't expected to see her. Actually, he had never spoken to her since the sorting ceremony.
"Can I sit?"
"Er—yes, of course.'"
He awkwardly showed her the empty chair in front of her, as if she couldn't notice it by herself, and the girl took a seat with a dreamy grin on her face.
"Oh, are you working on your OWLs? I think I saw Hermione on the other end of the library, she looked rather distraught." He suppressed a smile; of course Hermione would be overwrought during that period. He vaguely wondered how Ron might feel right now, perhaps he felt just like him—helpless, tired, distracted—or maybe he felt worse; he most likely felt worse. He could imagine Ron being in an existential crisis, staring at his books while pondering if, in the end, it was worth it.
"You look happier than before." Luna observed even though he hadn't asked for it.
He frowned, unsure what could make her think that.
"You seem to have found friends; it's good." She continued, "Even though I think it's a bit incongruous."
"What is incongruous?"
"Your friendship with Draco Malfoy—everyone thinks it's quite surprising. It is: incongruous, isn't it?"
He had no idea how to respond. His hand was absently playing with his feather on the table while he stared at the girl.
"Yeah—I suppose it is." He eventually muttered.
It was not like she waited for his answer; she actually looked quite uninterested in his opinion, as she immediately added;
"But you know, I don't think you should replace your friends."
His hand stopped moving. "I'm not replacing them." He argued.
"Really?" Her brows raised as if she had just seen a rare species, "It looks like it; this is what they think at least."
A surge of anger rose in his cheeks and contorted his face.
"I am not! It's not them who have been placed in another house! It's unfair."
His voice was not louder than a whisper, but it did not contain less rage. They had no idea what he had been through recently.
The only reason he did not yell was the threatening Ms Pince at the other end of the library.
"Maybe you should tell them then." "When I feel bad, angry, or upset, I usually talk to someone I trust, like my dad, and I always feel better after."
He knew she meant well and was probably right. But another part of him felt reluctant.
They hate you, you betrayed them.
"What are you thinking about?" Luna asked, "You always seem lost, I noticed that when I see you sometimes. Like you're not really here."
The rain began to pound so hard outside that the window shook slightly, hit by the drops as hard as punches.
"Look— I've to go."
He hadn't written anything on his parchment since Draco's departure. He started gathering his books under the silence of Luna, when a small boy, the same first year who had knocked at his door the day after the attack, appeared right beside him.
"Hello—Harry Potter, I—I've—"
He wasn't in the mood to wait for the end of his stuttering.
"What do you want?"
"Er—Here."
The boy handed him a small envelope and walked away as fast as he could, as they weren't allowed to run in the library.
"What is that?" Luna asked lightly.
Harry ignored her. He opened the envelope under the table and skimmed the letter. It was Snape, asking him to meet him in his office immediately. He let out a sigh and finished packing his things without saying a word. Luckily, Luna was not the curious kind of person who would harass him until he confided in her. She simply watched him close his bag and stand up.
I've got to go." He repeated, "It—it was nice seeing you, Luna."
She nodded, and when he understood she would not say anything, he headed to the exit.
(***)
Snape's office was, as usual, terribly dark. But the poor weather that day, plunged the room into complete obscurity, forcing the professor to light all the candles and candlesticks above them.
"Potter."
Harry felt suddenly anxious—why had he asked him to come here a day before their Occlumency lesson? Did he know? About Draco and him? Was he about to yell at him? Punish him?
"Potter!"
"Uh?—Er—yes?"
Snape sighed; he looked utterly desperate.
"I asked you to come because I won't be available tomorrow night for our lesson."
Harry gulped. He wasn't ready for what was about to happen. He had not had the time to empty his mind; there was no way he would be able to prevent Snape from seeing his deepest secrets.
"I made you come here to discuss something with you. But before that, I would like to check your progress."
The man retrieved his wand from his long black robes before Harry could answer, and pointed it at the boy like he did every week. He never wasted any time before torturing his least favorite student.
"Get ready."
He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready at all.
"Wait—"
The room quickly turned into a large, blurry fog, and his soul felt like it violently escaped his body. He was in a long corridor, cold and dark. He was in the library -alone. "You betrayed them". Then the fog reappeared. He was in his bed, looking at Draco, smiling. He was on the stands, looking at Draco flying. He was on the pitch, looking at Draco rushing to him and hugging him. He was in the locker room, watching Draco—
"Enough."
For the first time, it was Snape who had stopped the spell. Harry's legs shook under his weight; he couldn't open his eyes and face his professor.
"That's what I thought; you're not making any effort." Snape spat.
"I'm sorry—I wasn't ready," Harry mumbled through gritted teeth.
"You're never ready, Potter! I'm not expecting apologies; I'm expecting progress!"
Snape took a moment to calm down. He slowly turned around to sit at his desk, while his student was still panting behind him, although he was relieved Snape hadn't witnessed their kiss—or anything after.
"You're making me lose my time."
Harry opened his eyes briskly to glance at him in disbelief; he felt humiliated. It was not like he had ever asked for these lessons.
"You're letting yourself get too distracted, Potter, I could think you're not taking the situation seriously."
"I am—"
Snape pursed his lips.
"This is exactly why I made you come tonight. I want you to know that we won't resume this class until you practice more seriously."
Perhaps he thought Harry would be upset by this information, when it was in fact the clear opposite.
"I'll give you two weeks, Potter. You will come back at the end of the month, fully prepared, without any new embarrassing memories to show me.
Harry's cheeks became scarlet. "You know I'm trying my best—"
"No, you're not. Not enough."
It was unfair.
"You need to focus way more than this. I expect you to stop daydreaming like you've been doing recently." Snape tried to explain more calmly,
"You must empty your mind every-single-night!" Snape sighed deeply, then opened one of his drawer to retrieve a small vial.
"I'll also give you dreamless potions. I want you to take a sip when you go through rough days, when you feel too vulnerable or too emotional to control anything. But you can't use it more than once a week, as it might become addictive if taken more."
Harry struggled to digest this information. Had he really reached a point where he had to be drugged?
"Use it wisely and only as a last resort. Use your own judgment, Potter. Your priority right now is to fully close your mind; I expect to see better results next time, and if I don't see any, I will have to add more lessons, and this time, it will be far from enjoyable for you, is that clear?"
"What?" Harry exclaimed, louder than intended.
"Don't think it delights me, Potter; I have way more interesting occupations to care about, but if you had worked harder, we both could have escaped that torture."
Their bickering had become so common that Harry didn't even react.
"Practice hard, follow my advice; is that clear?"
"Yes—sir."
"Here, use it only if needed." He handed him a small vial of dreamless potion.
"Focus on your OWLs, don't let yourself be distracted by anything that could create a breach in your mind. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir." He repeated, although his mind was fully distracted by one person.
Snape stared at him for a moment, Harry wondered if the man was trying to enter back into his brain, and immediately focused to erase all thoughts about Draco.
"This isn't a game, Potter."
"I know."
"Alright. You can dispose." Snape eventually growled, and he didn't have to repeat his words, as Harry dashed outside as if the room were on fire.
He quickly shoved the potion in his pocket, feeling deeply humiliated. He didn't even know if he could trust Snape; was the man doing all of this to weaken him? Was it even a real dreamless potion?
"Use your own judgment," he muttered, "my own judgment would be to stop seeing your greasy hair."
"How rude you are, Potty!"
Harry looked up from his feet to spot Peeves floating above him.
"Shut up."
The ghost exploded with laughter, "Ouuuuh, rebellious! Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed!" The ghost giggled with his high-pitched voice.
Harry opened his bag, grabbed a random book, and threw it at him. The book flew through his transparent body, before falling loudly on the stone floor. It made the ghost laugh even louder. "Potty seems to have anger issues!" He shouted as he flew away. Harry heard him repeat the same sentence over and over until his voice faded away with the distance.
When he entered the common room, Draco was waiting for him on the couch, like he always did. He noticed his friend approaching, making him look up from his book. His smile could erase any pain in Harry's world, any anger. He was—his main distraction.
"Hey, you're coming back late."
Harry sat beside him with a sigh, and absently laid his head on his shoulder as he stared at Draco's hand.
"I know, I'm sorry."
The blonde teenager rested his head on his black curls.
"You okay?"
Harry reached for his hand, his fingers slipping under his warm palm.
"I'm okay."
(***)
The only positive point of his terrible Occlumency lesson, was the long weekend that welcomed him. For the first time in months, he had a free Friday night. Draco woke him up gently on Saturday; the sun was barely up, and the rest of their roommates were deeply asleep.
"Hey Harry," he whispered.
Harry's nose twitched from the strings of hair on his face. He seemed to have slept soundly, which was quite rare. He lazily opened his green eyes and grumbled.
"Come on, get dressed." Whispered Draco.
He wanted to go by the lake, as it seemed to be a sunny day.
And he was right; it was as though the weather had decided to lighten Harry's mood by offering him a long, warm break in perfect company. They had been sitting against the tree by the water for hours, their school books open on the grass, unread and ignored, as the boys preferred resting against each other, their gazes lost at the horizon. The sun reflected on the water like millions of glittering stars, a golden mirror on a smooth surface. Harry's upper body was leaned against Draco, his head nestled in the crook of his neck. Sometimes, a group of early risers passed near them, and Harry immediately straightened to sit by the tree, but it never lasted long, and as soon as the students walked away, Draco wrapped his arm around him to pull his body back against him.
Harry had made an effort to practice the previous night by slowing his breathing and clearing his mind, and it appeared to have been somewhat successful. But in these moments, where his life seemed oddly so beautiful, he didn't feel like he needed to try so hard.
"Do you know how to swim?" He randomly asked, his gaze upon the water. They hadn't talked for almost thirty minutes.
Draco scoffed behind him and said, "Of course, who can't swim at our age?"
"Me."
Draco stopped laughing, "What do you mean? You literally swam in that lake, last year."
Harry grinned, even though Draco couldn't see him from where he was.
"Yeah, but it was underwater; it's not the same as, you know, floating. And I even had gills to breathe, remember?"
"Yeah, of course I remember you and your insufferable goodness that pushed you to save the entire world instead of simply following the rules. God, you really pissed me off that day."
It made Harry laugh; sometimes he forgot that, less than two months ago, they used to hate each other.
"Fuck off"
Draco's arms tightened around him. He wished they could stay like this forever, in this bubble where nobody could interfere and ruin everything.
"I could teach you, one day, if you want." Draco offered. He felt Harry's head nod in his neck, his locks tickling his skin as he did.
They fell back into silence, only the sound of their simultaneous breathing blending with the occasional jolts in the water, when a fish —or perhaps bigger creatures, swam close to the surface.
"And do you know how to skip stones?" Harry asked again, after observing the small ripples in the water.
"Skip stones? What is that?"
"It's a way of throwing flat stones across the water, and they bounce off the surface."
Draco grimaced, visibly dubious about this weird hobby.
"I've never tried; it looks hard." Harry said,
He moved his head to look up at Draco. "Do you want to try?"
His grimace hadn't faded away, and he shook his head slightly; "No, I'll pass, but go ahead, impress me!"
He had expected Harry to give up and stay nestled in his arms, but the boy actually got up. "Ok, I want to give it a try."
He pulled up the bottom of his pants so that they stopped in the middle of his calves and headed to the water. Draco watched him carefully select the most suitable stone on the ground, and when he seemed to have found the perfect one, he threw it with an awkward flick of the wrist into the lake. The stone heavily sank into the water with a loud splash, leaving Harry obviously disappointed.
"Try again," Draco encouraged him from behind.
The teenager grabbed another stone that looked similar,
"I think I need to bend my wrist more like this—" he said, —mostly to himself.
The second try was almost a success, the stone bounced twice before vanishing from their sight into the deep green water.
"Yes!"
Harry turned around with a wide smile on his face, like a proud child who wanted his parents to notice his progress.
"Did you see that?"
Draco grinned, as his heart slowly melted at the sight of Harry's joy. He wished he could see that more often, happiness suited him so well.
"Yeah, I saw. I think you can try again, try to make more than three bounces!"
Harry sighed,
"That was already pretty good."
"Yeah, but I'd expect perfection from you."
His cheesy comment made Harry grimace, and he shivered with his upper body to make fun of him.
"Your sentimentalism gives me chills."
"Shut up," Draco chuckled.
Harry ignored him, and his eyes shifted to the low level water around his feet in search of a new stone. He eventually found one; it looked less flat, but was smaller and lighter.
"You want to try?" Harry asked, showing the stone in his right hand.
"Well, why not."
Draco stood up gently, and rolled up his pants. Once he was done, he straightened and looked back at Harry. The boy's smile was slowly fading away into a concerning glazed expression, almost absent.
"Harry?" Draco called timidly.
Harry's complexion had turned pale, and his green eyes were fixed on a point behind Draco. The blond boy turned around to see what he was looking at, but there was nothing but open grassland. Then, all of a sudden, he heard the stone falling into the water, making him briskly whirl around. Harry had dropped it; his hand was open, hanging limp at his side as if he had lost all the strength in his arm.
"Harry—?" He called again, concern etched on his face.
But he didn't answer. Draco saw his eyes suddenly roll in their orbits, and his body collapsed a second later, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"HARRY!"
He was in a dark, large room full of high shelves covered by small glass spheres. He walked between these shelves, until he finally reached number ninety-seven, where he turned left and hurried along the aisle between two rows. There was a shape on the floor at the very end—a man, looking familiar, with long black hair and tattoos on his arms.
Then, a high, cold voice came from his own mouth;
"Crucio!"