Revelations!
As they made their way back to their quarters, Harry suddenly stopped so abruptly that Draco nearly ran into him.
"Bloody hell, Potter—"
But Harry wasn’t listening. His heart had just plummeted into his stomach. His friends. His friends!
Since the train, he hadn’t seen them once. They must be worried sick—or furious, or both. He’d just vanished after that whole Veela revelation, and now, hours later, he still hadn’t given them a single explanation.
Would they be mad? No, they knew about the Veela thing, so maybe they’d understand? Or at least try to? But knowing Ron, he was probably about five seconds away from storming the castle looking for him. And Hermione—Merlin, Hermione—she’d be demanding answers the second she saw him.
Harry groaned, pressing his fingers against his temples. His head was going to explode if he didn’t talk to them soon.
"I need to see my friends," he blurted.
Draco, who had been watching him with vague amusement, raised an eyebrow. "Right now?"
"Yes, right now." Harry started walking again with renewed determination.
Draco rolled his eyes and followed. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that, oh great impulsive one?"
Harry gave him a confused look. "What?"
Draco sighed, as if Harry was being particularly slow. "You didn’t take the potion. Neither of us put on those necklaces. How, pray tell, are you planning to go running off on your own when we both know that being apart for too long is going to turn you into a twitchy, miserable wreck?"
Harry opened his mouth to argue—then shut it.
…Oh.
Right.
Harry turned to Draco, eyes pleading. "Please come with me."
Draco groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Potter—"
"Please," Harry repeated, determined not to let it turn into an argument.
Draco sighed dramatically, then crossed his arms. "At least eat first. And put on the necklace. We’ve got the entire day to talk to your friends, but if you go now, starving and magic all over the place, you’re going to be insufferable."
Harry frowned, but Draco just lifted an expectant eyebrow.
"Fine," Harry muttered. "Fine."
They walked back to their quarters, setting their plates down on the small table near the window. Harry barely paid attention to what he was eating, too focused on what he was going to say to Ron and Hermione. Draco, on the other hand, was far more casual about it, finishing his meal at a comfortable pace before pushing his plate aside with zero concern.
Harry hesitated, glancing between his own empty plate and Draco’s discarded one. "...Should we bring these back?"
Draco gave him a long, unimpressed look. "Potter, have you ever met a house-elf?"
Before Harry could answer, the plates vanished into thin air.
"...Right," he muttered.
Draco smirked, standing up. "Come on. Necklace first."
Harry picked up the small chain Dumbledore had given them and examined it. It was finely crafted, warm to the touch with a faint hum of magic. He slipped it around his neck, fastening the clasp, and immediately felt… something. It wasn’t overwhelming, just a subtle warmth pressing against his skin—comforting, almost.
Draco, who had put his own on with little fanfare, rolled his shoulders. "Feels strange."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, adjusting his collar.
Then came the potion.
Harry uncorked the small vial, sniffing it cautiously. A sharp, herbal scent hit his nose, not unpleasant but distinctly medicinal. He took a sip—
Thick. It coated his tongue like syrup, the taste lingering somewhere between honey and bitter herbs.
Draco grimaced as he downed his own dose. "Ugh." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That was disgusting."
Harry coughed. "No kidding."
Before heading out, they exchanged their necklaces as Dumbledore had instructed. The moment Harry clasped Draco’s around his neck, he felt another subtle shift in the magic—like a pulse of reassurance.
Draco rolled his eyes at Harry’s cautious expression. "Stop overthinking it, Potter. It’s a necklace, not a bloody contract."
Harry huffed but didn’t argue. He had bigger things to focus on.
They were about to leave when a thought struck Draco. "You do realize your friends are going to want a full explanation, right?"
Harry exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah."
Draco smirked. "And you're going to be the one explaining it, not me."
Harry shot him a glare. "Yeah."
And with that, they stepped out—ready, or not, to face whatever came next, they made their way toward Gryffindor Tower.
When they arrived, Draco stopped a little ways back. "I’ll wait here," he said, crossing his arms. "No need to attract any more attention than necessary."
Harry barely had time to nod before stepping inside.
The second he did, Hermione spotted him—and practically launched herself at him.
"Harry!" she gasped, gripping his arms so tightly he almost stumbled back. "Where have you been? Are you okay? Why did you disappear? What happened? And if I hadn’t heard from you before dinner, I was going to comb through the castle brick by brick!"
"Mate, what the hell?" Ron appeared right behind her, his expression torn between relief and frustration. "You just vanished! You didn’t even say anything—"
"I’m fine, I’m fine!" Harry quickly assured them, raising his hands in defense. "I’ll explain, but—"
More Gryffindors were starting to notice the commotion, and Harry could feel the weight of their curiosity pressing in.
He sighed. "Can we talk somewhere more private?"
Ron and Hermione exchanged glances before nodding.
Without another word, Harry led them out—straight toward his and Draco’s quarters.
As they approached the entrance to their quarters, Harry spotted Draco waiting there, arms crossed, looking as unimpressed as ever.
Hermione and Ron, however, did not look pleased. Hermione’s expression was tight, calculating—questioning—while Ron scowled openly.
"What’s he doing here?" Ron demanded, his voice laced with suspicion. "What does he want?"
Draco rolled his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "Must you be so predictable, Weasley?" He didn’t even bother answering, simply sneering as he turned to open the door.
Harry shot his friends a look. "Just—trust me, okay? Follow me."
Hermione hesitated but nodded. Ron, on the other hand, muttered something about how this was a terrible idea before reluctantly stepping forward.
Once inside, Draco gestured lazily toward the sitting area. "Sit down. Try not to drool on the furniture."
They did—though both of them were clearly on edge, Ron looking around like he expected the furniture to attack him.
Draco, ever the host, arched a brow. "Tea? Coffee? Something to help you digest the shocking revelation you're about to receive?"
"No," Hermione said sharply.
Ron just grunted.
Harry, meanwhile, was already uncomfortable. His shoulders were tense, and he could feel the weight of their stares pressing in. He took a deep breath.
"Okay," he started, shifting awkwardly, "I guess I owe you both an explanation." His fingers fidgeted against his robes. "But the truth is… I’m not really sure of anything myself. So I’ll just go straight to the point."
Ron and Hermione leaned in slightly.
"As you know, I’m a Veela," Harry continued. "And as I told you I’d know when I met my mate… So that’s why I kind of… disappeared."
Hermione’s eyes widened slightly, like she had already connected the dots but was too stunned to speak.
Ron, however, frowned in confusion. "Okay… and? What does that have to do with this—" he gestured aggressively at Draco, "—devil spawn? Did you find them?"
Before Harry could respond, Draco cut in smoothly. "You’re looking at him."
Silence.
Ron blinked. Then he blinked again.
"What?"
Harry groaned, pressing his fingers to his temple, already feeling the headache coming.
Ron exploded. "WHAT?!" He shot up from his chair, his ears turning an alarming shade of red. "Are you joking? Tell me you’re joking, because this—this is some kind of sick— Potter, have you lost your mind?!"
"Ron—"
"No, seriously!" Ron was practically vibrating with anger now. "You do remember who this is, right?! Malfoy—ferret—our sworn enemy? The guy who’s spent the past six years making our lives miserable?! The same slimy git who—who—"
"Ron, I know—"
"Do you?!" Ron jabbed a finger in Draco’s direction. "Do you remember? First year—he tried to get you expelled! Second year—he called Hermione a—" Ron stopped himself, looking furious, "—well, you know what he called her! Third year—he spent the whole time whining about Buckbeak! Fourth year! Oh don’t even get me started on Fourth year! The badges, the tournament, the constant—"
"Ron!" Hermione finally cut in, her voice sharp. "I get it, but—this isn’t exactly something they can control."
"Like hell he can’t!"
"No, listen to me," Hermione insisted. "Think about it logically." She took a deep breath, steadying herself before continuing. "From the moment they met, Harry and Malfoy have had strong feelings toward each other."
"Yeah—hatred," Ron shot back.
"Exactly." Hermione’s expression turned thoughtful. "And that’s the thing. Haven’t you ever noticed how it’s always been them?"
Ron crossed his arms, unimpressed. "What are you on about?"
"Just think about it," she said, leaning forward. "Remember the staring contests in the Great Hall?"
Ron hesitated.
"Every meal," she continued, "separated by six rows of students, yet they still managed to spend half the time glaring at each other."
Harry flushed. He hadn’t realized it was that noticeable.
"And what about second year?" Hermione pressed. "They were so obsessed with each other that we literally brewed Polyjuice Potion just to spy on him." She gestured toward Draco.
"Hey," Harry muttered, "that was for intel."
"Was it?" Hermione arched a brow. "Because you were the one who suggested we sneak into the Slytherin common room—"
"Oh, come on—"
"And let’s not forget how you two were constantly following each other around."
Harry stared. "We weren’t—"
"Oh, please," she scoffed. "It was constant. If Malfoy so much as breathed suspiciously, you were on him like a Niffler on gold. And if you so much as blinked in his direction, he made some snide remark just to get a reaction. Tell me I’m wrong."
Harry’s mouth opened—then shut again.
Because, well.
She wasn’t wrong.
Ron looked like he was processing a personal crisis. "So… what, you’re saying this whole time they were… what, flirting?"
Draco made a choking sound. "Excuse you—"
Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Please stop talking."
"No, seriously," Hermione went on, looking thoroughly fascinated. "Think about it—Harry, you’ve always reacted to Malfoy in a way you don’t with anyone else. And Malfoy—" She turned to Draco. "—you spent years baiting him for reactions."
Draco smirked slightly. "What can I say? It was entertaining."
Harry glared at him. "Malfoy."
Draco just arched a brow. "Potter."
Ron groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. "So what, the whole time we thought they were rivals, they were flirting in broad daylight?"
"Not on purpose," Harry muttered.
"Well, obviously," Draco said, "if it were up to me, my mate would be significantly less aggravating."
"Right back at you," Harry shot back, exhausted.
"See?" Hermione gestured between them. "This is exactly what I’m talking about!"
Harry sighed, head in his hands. "This is going to be a nightmare."
Ron, still looking like he was struggling to process everything, finally glanced around the room. His eyes flicked over the spacious sitting area, the large windows, and the elegant decor before turning back to Harry with suspicion.
"What is this place?" he asked, frowning.
"Our quarters," Harry said simply.
Ron’s frown deepened. "Your what now?"
"Dumbledore gave them to us," Harry explained, shifting uncomfortably. "Because of the bond. We have to stay close, and this is… well, this is where we’re supposed to stay."
Ron, however, looked horrified. "You mean to tell me you two are stuck in here. Alone, all day, all the time?"
"Not just live together," Draco cut in smoothly. "We also have to share meals, breathe the same air, and—Oh, Potter, did you tell them about the part where we can’t even be too far apart without feeling like we’re dying?" He smirked. "That bit’s my favorite."
Harry shot him a glare. "You are so unhelpful."
Ron still looked like he was struggling to wrap his head around it. "And you just accepted this?!"
"What do you want me to do, Ron? Refuse? It’s not like I have a choice! This whole thing is—" Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I didn’t ask for this. But I have to deal with it, so I’d rather not spend all my time fighting it."
"Exactly," Draco said, sounding satisfied. "See, Potter actually has some sense. Maybe you should try it sometime, Weasley."
Ron made a furious noise in his throat, jumping from the sofa. "I swear to Merlin, Malfoy—"
"Enough!" Hermione finally snapped, rubbing her temples. "Ron, sit down. Malfoy, stop provoking him."
Draco smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "Oh, come on, it’s so easy—"
"Draco," Harry warned.
Draco blinked at him, looking momentarily thrown off, by the use of his name by his half, it felt warming. He opened his mouth like he wanted to make a comment about it, but instead, he just huffed. "Fine, fine. I’ll be good."
"Doubt it," Ron muttered, but he begrudgingly sat back down, shaking his head. "I still don’t like this. It’s weird. It’s really weird."
"You think I like it?" Harry shot back. "This isn’t exactly how I pictured this year going either, Ron."
Ron crossed his arms, grumbling under his breath. Hermione, however, still looked deep in thought.
"So," she said carefully, "you two have to stay together because of the bond. But… is there a reason you were avoiding us until now?"
Harry hesitated. "I wasn’t avoiding you, I just… needed time. To figure things out."
"And because you were glued to Malfoy?" Ron muttered.
Harry sighed. "Something like that."
Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "The bond pulls us toward each other. It’s—it's not just in our heads, it’s physical. Being apart for too long feels wrong. Like something is missing. And today, it was really hard to ignore."
Ron looked like he wanted to be sick. "So you’re willing to be near him?"
"I needed to," Harry corrected quickly. "Not the same thing."
"And now?"
Harry hesitated, glancing at Draco.
Draco smirked. "Oh, don’t stop on my account, Potter. Do tell them how much you adore my company."
"Don’t!" Harry snapped automatically, the word sharp and warning. Then he groaned, rubbing his face. "Merlin, I hate this conversation."
Ron, however, was still fixated on the earlier part. "Wait—so if you needed to be near him, why aren’t you two glued to the hip right now?"
"We took a potion," Draco answered before Harry could, sensing that he was nearing his limit, with how uncomfortable he looked. "And these—" He lifted the necklace around his neck, letting the silver glint in the light. "They help ease the bond’s effects. We still prefer to be close, but at least Potter doesn’t look like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown when I step out of the room."
"Small miracles," Harry muttered.
Hermione nodded slowly, absorbing everything. "And this arrangement—it’s permanent?"
Harry swallowed hard, a hand on his cheek, his face heating up. "U-unless we… um, complete the bond… yeah."
Ron blinked. "What do you mean complete—" Then his eyes went wide. "Oh. OH."
"Don’t say it," Harry begged.
"You mean you—"
"DON’T. SAY. IT." Harry almost screamed.
Ron looked mildly traumatized. "I need to lie down."
"You’re sitting," Draco pointed out. Uninterested in his uncomfort. "That’s close enough."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry caught the way she kept glancing between him and Draco, the gears still turning in her mind.
Harry sighed. "Look, I know this is a lot. Trust me, I know. But I didn’t want to keep you in the dark. You’re my friends, and I—I need you both on my side."
That, at least, seemed to soften them a little. Hermione gave him a small, reassuring smile, and Ron—though still looking a little green—exhaled heavily. "Yeah, alright. But if he tries anything—" He shot a warning look at Draco. "I will hex him."
"I’d like to see you try," Draco drawled.
"Malfoy." Harry warned again.
Draco just smirked. "Fine, fine. I’ll play nice. For now."
As the conversation finally wound down, an awkward silence settled over the room. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances—Hermione’s thoughtful, Ron’s still vaguely disturbed—but neither of them seemed to have anything else to say.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling warm from everything they had just talked about. "So… I guess that’s it."
"For now," Hermione corrected, still studying him carefully.
Ron exhaled heavily, getting to his feet. "Yeah, we should go before I start getting actual nightmares about this." He shot one last glare in Draco’s direction. "Don’t think I trust you, Malfoy."
Draco, who had been lounging against the arm of the couch, smirked. "Perish the thought, Weasley."
Ron scowled but didn’t rise to the bait this time.
Hermione hesitated, as if she wanted to say something more, but eventually just sighed and placed a hand on Harry’s arm. "We’re here if you need us, Harry. No matter what."
Harry nodded, a small but grateful smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks."
She returned the smile before turning toward the door. Ron followed, giving Harry a long-suffering look before opening it. Just before stepping out, he paused and glanced back.
"Don’t do anything stupid."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."
With that, Ron and Hermione finally left, the door clicking shut behind them.
The room felt strangely quiet without them. Harry let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair before glancing at Draco.
"Well, that went about as well as expected."
Draco huffed. "Speak for yourself, Potter. I think I handled myself beautifully."
Harry gave him a flat look. "You were this close to getting hexed. Repeatedly."
Draco arched a brow, utterly unbothered. "And yet, not a single spell touched me. Almost like I know what I’m doing."
Harry groaned, flopping onto the couch and dragging his hands down his face. "Merlin, give me strength."
Draco just smirked, looking insufferably pleased with himself.