For the long run

The exploration of their new quarters led them to a surprisingly spacious closet—big enough for both of their belongings to fit inside. Together.
Neither of them was particularly thrilled about that fact, but it was practical. They had little choice in the matter. With a flick of their wands and a muttered Engorgio, their shrunken suitcases expanded back to their original sizes, and soon, the space was neatly organized.
By the time they finished, the castle had settled into the quiet lull of late lunchtime.
The realization struck them at the same time—they had completely lost track of time.
Their thoughts were in turmoil, tangled in an endless loop of uncertainties. Were they supposed to tell everyone about this? How would their friends react? How would Ron and Hermione react? Would they be horrified? Angry? Feel betrayed? Would they even understand?
The sheer weight of it all was suffocating.
Without even noticing, they had drifted toward the couch. They sat close—too close—but it felt right. Draco’s arm had lazily draped around Harry’s shoulders at some point, and Harry, somehow, had all but curled into Draco’s side. Warmth enveloped them, a quiet comfort neither of them had sought out but both instinctively needed.
It wasn’t until their brains caught up to their bodies that realization crashed down on them. They froze.
Then—
Knock knock.
The sharp sound shattered the moment like glass.
Draco shot up, seizing the opportunity to put some space between them, while Harry jerked away as if burned. His heart pounded, not just from the shock of being interrupted but from the sheer wrongness of how right that had felt.
Draco strode toward the door, straightening his posture as if that would erase whatever had just happened.
“Who is it?” His voice came out firm, almost clipped.
Harry instinctively stepped closer, his magic stirring uneasily. Without thinking, his hand found the small of Draco’s back, a grounding touch. The effect was immediate—their magic settled, like two frequencies falling into perfect sync.
Beyond the door, a familiar voice answered, calm and tinged with its usual gentle amusement.
"Mr. Malfoy, it is I—Professor Dumbledore. Might I have a word?"
Draco’s expression flickered. He wasn’t particularly fond of the headmaster, but at this point, he wasn’t about to turn down any help they could get. With a begrudging sigh, he pulled the door open.
“Come in,” he said, attempting to keep his voice neutral.
Dumbledore stepped inside without hesitation, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over them with quiet understanding. His usual air of serenity was present, as if he had merely dropped by for tea rather than to discuss the life-altering bond between them.
"Hello, my dear students," he greeted, ever pleasant. "I hope you are faring well—or as well as one can, given the circumstances." His gaze twinkled knowingly. "I imagine this has been quite the adjustment for both of you."
Draco huffed, crossing his arms. “You could say that.”
Harry, still unsettled from earlier, muttered under his breath, “Great guess, Sherlock.”
Draco cast him a questioning glance, but before he could comment, Dumbledore continued.
“I have come with a temporary solution to help you navigate this bond while you attend your studies," he explained. "A potion—one that, when taken weekly, will ease the pull between you, allowing you both to function without immediate distress."
Harry perked up slightly. "Weekly?" That didn’t sound too bad.
Dumbledore inclined his head. “Yes. However, the potion alone will not be enough. It will dampen the effects of the bond, but only if you tend to it properly.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “…Tend to it how?”
Dumbledore’s expression remained kind but firm. “You must maintain physical contact at least once a day.”
Silence.
Draco stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“If you fail to do so, the potion’s effects will weaken prematurely,” Dumbledore explained. “The strain will return, and you will experience the… unfortunate consequences of withdrawal.”
Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach. “And what exactly are those consequences?”
Dumbledore hummed in thought. “I daresay you will find it… uncomfortable.”
Harry exhaled slowly. "Brilliant," he muttered. "Absolutely bloody brilliant."
Draco scowled. "So, what—you’re telling us we have to cuddle every day or suffer?"
Dumbledore’s lips twitched, though he did not outright smile. “Cuddling is not required, but some form of touch will be necessary—brushing hands, a pat on the shoulder, perhaps even a simple moment of proximity. The bond must be acknowledged, however briefly, or it will demand attention in rather inconvenient ways.”
Draco looked borderline horrified. “That’s insane.”
Dumbledore gave a small chuckle. “Veela bonds are quite insistent, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco muttered something under his breath, running a hand down his face. This was worse than he thought.
Before they could fully process that revelation, Dumbledore produced two necklaces, delicately crafted and humming with soft magic.
“These," he said, handing one to each of them, "will assist you in managing the strain. They are designed to absorb a portion of one’s magic throughout the day and transfer it to the other—mimicking the comfort of physical closeness. You must exchange them daily for them to work properly.”
Harry turned the necklace over in his hands. It was warm to the touch, and even without activating it, he could feel the faint pull of magic within it.
Draco, however, was more focused on something else. His fingers tightened around the chain. “So if we just keep using these, we’ll be fine? No bond, no—” He gestured vaguely.
Dumbledore’s expression shifted ever so slightly. “It is not quite so simple.”
Of course, it wasn’t.
“The potion will help, but it will not last indefinitely,” he explained. “If you take it regularly and ensure daily contact, you may delay the bond’s full effects. However, it is merely a delay, not a cure. Eventually, you will have to embrace it.”
Then, as if to make matters worse, Dumbledore continued, “After that, Professor Snape will either provide a new batch or—if he deems it necessary—require you to learn to brew it yourselves.”
Harry made a face. Relying on Snape? Fantastic.
That was not what either of them wanted to hear.
The weight of the conversation settled between them. This wasn’t just a temporary inconvenience. It was a reality they would have to face—together.
And despite everything, despite all the frustration and confusion, Harry couldn’t shake the lingering warmth of Draco’s arm having been around his shoulders just moments ago.
Maybe it wouldn’t be all bad.
Maybe.
Draco was the first to break the silence, his grip still tight around the necklace in his hand.
"And what about our schedules?" he asked, his voice sharp, businesslike—determined to focus on something practical instead of the mess of emotions twisting inside him. "How much is this going to change compared to the other students?"
Dumbledore clasped his hands together, his expression remaining ever patient. "Your core subjects will remain the same. However, certain adjustments have been made to accommodate your situation. You will both be excused from most group activities that require extended separation. Additionally, you will receive specialized lessons on Veela bonds and magical compatibility, taught by someone with firsthand experience."
Draco frowned. "And who exactly is going to be teaching us?"
"A Veela instructor," Dumbledore replied simply. "An individual who has lived through this kind of bond and can offer guidance on what to expect—far more effectively than any of your current professors, myself included."
Draco did not like the sound of that.
Harry, still absorbing everything, hesitated before asking the question that had been gnawing at him since the start of this conversation.
"And… will we be able to keep this a secret?" His voice was quieter now, uncertain. "From the other students, I mean."
Draco glanced at him, surprised. He hadn’t even considered that—he had assumed the moment people saw them constantly together, the rumors would start. But Harry… Harry looked genuinely anxious about it.
Dumbledore’s expression softened. "To an extent, yes. You are under no obligation to share the details of your bond with your peers. However…" He tilted his head slightly. "Given the nature of your situation, it may become difficult to hide entirely."
Harry's stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"
Dumbledore regarded him with something almost like sympathy. "There will be moments when the bond asserts itself—instances where proximity is necessary, even in public. It is possible that others may take notice of… certain behaviors."
Harry wanted to groan. That was not reassuring.
Draco, however, was already thinking ahead. "What if we do need to explain something? What are we supposed to say?"
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. "Ah, an excellent question, Mr. Malfoy. I leave that decision to the two of you. After all, how you choose to navigate this bond—both privately and publicly—is entirely in your hands."
Harry resisted the urge to run a hand down his face. Fantastic. So they had to figure that out on their own too.
Draco, meanwhile, was already calculating the possibilities. Would it be better to let the truth trickle out in pieces? Or keep it buried as long as possible? Either way, he had no doubt that the moment people noticed Potter and Malfoy willingly spending time together, the entire school would lose its mind.
He sighed. "Wonderful. Another disaster waiting to happen."
Dumbledore simply smiled. "Change often feels that way, does it not?"
Neither of them looked particularly comforted by that.
Dumbledore straightened his robes, giving them one last look before making his way to the door.
"Oh, and before I take my leave," he added, pausing just as he reached the exit, "given the… unique circumstances, you are exceptionally allowed to have your lunch and dinner here in your quarters. You will, however, need to retrieve your meals from the kitchens yourselves."
Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. That was actually a relief—having to sit in the Great Hall, dealing with prying eyes and endless whispers, was the last thing either of them wanted right now.
"With that," Dumbledore continued, "I shall let you settle in. Do take care of one another."
And with those parting words, he left.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, both Harry and Draco let out a breath.
"Well," Draco said, crossing his arms. "That was… something."
Harry rubbed his face, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him again. "We should probably talk about all of this."
"Yes, we should," Draco agreed, eyeing him carefully.
But neither of them moved.
They both knew what would happen if they started talking now—they’d get caught up in everything, every detail, every question, and by the time they were done, lunch would be long over.
Draco sighed. "Kitchens first?"
Harry nodded. "Kitchens first."
And with that, they rushed out of their quarters.
—
The halls were mostly empty, the last stragglers from lunch either lingering in the Great Hall or heading back to their dorms to unpack. It made the trip to the kitchens easier—no students around to stop them, no curious glances or unnecessary small talk.
Once they reached the painting of the fruit bowl, Harry reached out and tickled the pear. It let out a small giggle before transforming into a handle, and he pulled the door open.
Inside, the kitchen was bustling with house-elves cleaning up from lunch, stacking plates, and preparing for the evening meal. The warm scents of fresh bread and roasting meat filled the air, making Harry’s stomach grumble.
Draco arched a brow at him. "Hungry, are we?"
Harry scowled. "Shut up."
One of the house-elves spotted them and immediately rushed over. "Oh! Sirs are here for lunch? We is happy to help! What can we get for you?"
"Something quick," Draco said smoothly. "Enough for two."
The house-elf nodded enthusiastically and disappeared, leaving them standing there in the middle of the kitchen.
It was only then that Harry finally turned to Draco, hesitating for a second before asking, "Are you going to tell your friends about… this?"
Draco blinked at him, caught off guard. Then, after a moment, he smirked. "Only if you tell yours first."
Harry groaned. "That’s not an answer."
Draco leaned against the counter, considering. "I haven’t decided yet."
"Same," Harry admitted. "I mean… I want to, but…" He exhaled sharply. "How the hell am I supposed to tell Ron and Hermione that I’m magically bound to you of all people?"
Draco let out a dry chuckle. "Trust me, I’m not particularly eager to sit Pansy and Blaise down for this conversation either."
Harry snorted despite himself. "Yeah, I can imagine."
The house-elf returned with a tray of food, and for now, the subject was dropped. But the question still hung between them, unanswered.