The Things that don't change
Its been a whole week since the 8th years, Warriors of the war were back at Hogwarts and literally each and every person who had been the part of the war including the professors were grateful for whatever was going on between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy…initially.
For the first three days it was nothing but a form of entertainment for both the spectators and the two stars of the show. It was funny, it was thrilling, it had Hogwarts on the edge of their seats as to who would come up with a more bizarre insult. Its not like anybody didn’t have anything better to do but there was some thrill everyone was looking for.
This- whatever this was, was better than a looming war anyway so who in their right mind would not watch free entertainment. It was all confusing for the first years but they were quick to catch upto the tales of the shared history of the two boys told by their seniors. Overall it was just coming to everyone’s favour. Professors often pointed them out but they also knew that the war survivors in some twisted sense needed it.
For the first three days.
Later on the banter turned into something that had never happened in the 7 years the boys were known to the castle and many who lived there. It turned into something twisted, uncomfortable and borderline offensive. They were both crude. Something they have never been.
Malfoy was basically one of the aristocrats of wizarding world and Harry potter was well generally kind and soft spoken, people wouldn’t necessarily call him polite but he was still aware when to be a sassy little shit. Malfoy however just didn’t spoke rash. He was mean, a bully once even. But language was something the Blonde’s never wavered.
This was getting weird.
“Harry I swear to Televisions if you didn’t finish whatever is on that plate—”
“I will I promise I will Mione you don’t have to watch me like a hawk.”
“Not to be that guy but mate you really need to be watched like a hawk.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks Ron you’re exactly that guy”
“Harry…” there it is the familiar ‘mom’s last warning’ tone of Hermione Granger. “I know its getting harder with your magic getting out of hand but I mean it when I say that’s no excuse to not eat properly.”
Harry groaned. “I’m just tired.”
Ron chimed in. “Harry that’s not an excuse to—”
“Ronald Weasely you are supposed to be my best friend!” Harry said in all light hearted ness.
Before either of them could press further, a familiar voice slithered in from behind him. “Alas, the Chosen One’s tired,” Draco Malfoy drawled, sliding into view with that infuriating smirk plastered across his pale face. How and when did he come to the Gryffindor table right behind Harry was beyond anyone. “Must be exhausting, being everyone’s favourite martyr.”
Harry didn’t even look up as he answered, “Still not as exhausting as being Voldemort’s little lapdog. Must’ve been tough, all those late nights shining his wand.”
Ron choked on his pumpkin juice, sputtering as Hermione shot Harry a disapproving look. But Harry wasn’t paying attention to them—his focus was entirely on Malfoy now, the only part of his day that still felt like a challenge.
Draco snorted. “Oh, please. I did what I had to. And look, here we are. You, me, and Saint Weasley over there. What a tragic love triangle.”
Harry smirked at that, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders as the dark banter between them began. “I thought you preferred older men, Malfoy. You and Tom looked awfully cozy there at the end. Didn’t even ask for an autograph.”
Malfoy’s eyes glittered with a mischievous light. “Oh, didn’t I? Could’ve sworn I engraved my name on his arm, right next to his favourite little tattoo.” He lifted his forearm, where the faded remnants of the Dark Mark were still visible, ghostly against his pale skin. “Shame I missed the meet-and-greet.”
Harry barked out a laugh, catching the horrified expressions of the few nearby students who overheard. He could practically hear them thinking, Did Potter just joke about—? But this was their game now, their twisted, dark little competition. It was the only thing that made sense.
“Must’ve been a great romance,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, eyes dancing with amusement. “Bet you cried when I called him Tom. Thought it was a real tender moment.”
Draco snorted again, his smirk widening. “Cried? I was bloody jealous. He never lets me call him Tom. Always My Lord this and Dark Lord that.”
Ron, half-listening and clearly trying not to engage, mumbled, “Merlin’s balls, you two…” But Harry was grinning now, a wide, genuine smile that made Hermione’s worried look falter for a moment. She didn’t get it, and neither did Ron, not really. But Harry? He understood. This was the last real connection he had to the boy he used to be, before he had to grow up too quickly, before the world turned him into something else.
“You’ll get over it,” Harry said, mock sympathy lacing his voice. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll find another homicidal maniac to crush on.”
Draco gasped dramatically, putting a hand over his chest. “You wound me, Potter. I’m not some cheap Death Eater floozy. I have standards.”
“Oh, really? Didn’t notice those when you were licking Voldemort’s boots.”
Draco's eyes glinted with something dangerous, but the corner of his mouth curled in a wicked grin. “You’re just bitter because I looked better in black robes. Admit it.”
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but the conversation was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Professor McGonagall clearing her throat from the head table. The hall fell silent, though Harry could still feel the ripple of disbelief from those who had overheard the exchange between him and Draco. He could practically see the gears turning in their heads, trying to wrap their minds around how the hell that had just happened.
Draco leaned in closer, his voice low, conspiratorial. “Tell me, Potter,” he whispered, “how long before they start whispering about us? Two great war doomed teenagers- the saviour and the death eater, doomed to bicker for all eternity. There’ll be a plaque or something, I’m sure.”
Harry smirked, glancing sideways at him. “I give it two weeks. Think they’ll title it The Boy Who Lived and the Boy Who—what, begged for forgiveness?”
Draco’s laugh was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. “If we weren’t standing in a school full of idiots, I’d kiss you for that one.”
“Please don’t,” Harry shot back, standing up from the table with a grin. “I’m still recovering from your crush on Voldemort. I’ve got standards too, Malfoy.”
Draco arched an eyebrow, looking him up and down. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but as he turned to leave the hall, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Draco didn’t knew about the longing fond smile he had when he watched Harry leave and everyone decided they wouldn’t tell him that.
And they regretted it.
It was a rare quiet moment at Hogwarts, with Harry and Hermione studying in the library. Well, Hermione was studying. Harry was making a half-hearted attempt at scribbling down notes for his Transfiguration essay. But, naturally, Draco entered the scene. He spotted Harry from across the room and, in typical fashion, couldn't resist a jab.
Draco strolled up to Harry’s table, tapping his fingers lightly on the wood. “Potter. Fancy seeing you in a library. I thought books weren’t really your thing.”
Harry, not looking up from his parchment, muttered, “I like books just fine, Malfoy. Not that you’d know, considering you spent half your time last year crying in the Room of Requirement.”
Draco smirked, leaning on the table. “Ah, yes. I needed the alone time. Couldn’t handle watching you do that mind-meld thing with Voldemort. Honestly, it was sickening. Almost romantic, if you think about it.”
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Romantic? Well, I guess that makes you the jealous ex, right?”
Draco chuckled darkly. “Oh, please. Jealous? Hardly. I’m just surprised you didn’t elope. That connection of yours could’ve been something special.”
At the next table over, Blaise and Theo exchanged amused glances, trying not to burst out laughing. Blaise raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what’s weirder—the fact that they keep bringing up Voldemort or the fact that they find this entertaining.”
Theo smirked. “I’d say it’s a bit of both. You’d think they were flirting, but… well, this is Potter and Malfoy we’re talking about.”
Hermione, exasperated, glanced up from her book, eyes narrowing at Draco. “Malfoy, do you ever study, or do you just follow Harry around?”
Draco didn’t miss a beat. “Why, Granger, are you jealous? Don’t worry, I’ll leave Potter to his… studies.”
Harry grinned and gave Hermione a wink. “No need to worry, Hermione. He’s just obsessed with me. Can’t blame him, can you?”
Hermione let out a frustrated sigh. “You two are impossible.”
Luna, who had been quietly reading nearby, looked up with her usual serene smile. “It’s nice to see people so close. I think it’s sweet.”
Harry and Draco turned to her, blinking in surprise. Then they looked at each other with indifferent expressions before they turned their heads to opposite sides and started laughing soundlessly. Hermoine watched Harry doing the familiar habit of biting his lips as he covered his mouth with his palm to not make any sound of laughter.
Draco was being watched by the Slytherins in fascination as he approached them on the table pinching the bridge of his nose trying to bloody hard to not smile and failing miserably.
The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough for the 8th years, and Harry had just finished his last class, heading down the hallway with Ron and Hermione when, predictably, Draco appeared at his side. Draco glanced at Harry’s dishevelled hair and immediately smirked. “Potter, seriously. What were you doing in there? Looks like you had a rough go at it.”
Harry didn’t miss a beat. “You’d know all about rough, wouldn’t you? Didn’t you spend most of 5th year hiding in a broom cupboard?”
Draco chuckled. “At least I wasn’t wandering around with your favourite Slytherin’s voice in my head. That was quite something, wasn’t it?”
“He wasn’t my favourite Slytherin Malfoy.” Harry said. “And well, you know me. Always had a thing for good girls and bad boys.”
Ron, walking just behind them, nearly tripped over his own feet. “Merlin’s sake, Harry! Can you two not?” Their banter filled his head with images he wasn't sure were legal.
Hermione sighed heavily. “Why do they always bring this up? It’s disturbing.”
Ron muttered under his breath, “Disturbing? It’s like they’re trying to out-insult each other. Wonder they haven’t hexed each other—yet.”
Just as Harry was about to retort to Draco, McGonagall rounded the corner, stopping in her tracks when she saw the two of them.
“Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy. Could we please go one day without your… commentary?”
Draco, feigning innocence, shrugged. “We were just having a friendly chat, Professor.”
Harry grinned. “Yeah, Professor. Just catching up.”
McGonagall looked between the two of them, clearly unconvinced, but too exhausted to argue. “I don’t want to know.”
As she walked away, Draco leaned closer to Harry, smirking. “We’re a real hit with the staff, aren’t we?”
Harry rolled his eyes trying not to smile. “You could say that. Though I think they’re just waiting for us to finally hex each other.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Potter. If I wanted to hex you, I would have.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, “Then why haven’t you yet?”
Draco’s smirk threatened to break into a wolfish grin. “You know Ministry guidelines my wand would be checked every month” He leaned down to Harry’s height. “I have good excuses Potter, What’s yours?”
Ron could swear he could kill himself if he has two watch these two verbally fuck each other in some weird foreplay one more time.
Another Day in the Great Roast Battle of Hogwarts…
It had been like this since the beginning of the 8th year. Every few days, Harry and Draco would find themselves in a verbal duel, a constant back-and-forth that left everyone in a mix of astonishment, amusement, and occasional horror. Students had started to murmur that maybe, just maybe, this was the only part of Hogwarts that hadn’t changed post-war.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry sat across from Ron, his eyes already wandering toward the Slytherin table where Draco was holding court with his usual smug grin. It was only a matter of time.
“I’ll give it ten minutes,” Ginny muttered, nudging Hermione.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Five minutes, tops.”
Harry glanced over at his best friends, their banter barely registering as Draco caught his eye. And like clockwork, it began.
Draco beat Harry to it and made the first move. He tilted his head, inspecting Harry from across the room, then spoke just loud enough to catch Harry’s attention, but casual enough that it seemed offhand. “Potter, have you ever considered that your hair looks like you’ve been shagging a hippogriff in a broom closet?”
There it was. Right on cue. Harry grinned, rolling his eyes as he shouted back, “Nah, Malfoy. Just genetics. You know, like your family’s tendency to kiss Dark Lords’ robes?”
The surrounding tables groaned in unison, familiar with the rhythm of their insults. Blaise smirked, muttering under his breath, “Here we go again.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, but there was a sparkle behind the mask. “Come off it, Potter. We all know that ‘connection’ you had with Voldemort was deeper than a prophecy. Very intimate, I’d say. Did you two exchange love letters when we weren’t looking?”
Harry raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “Ah, yes. You caught me. He was very into purebloods. Too bad I wasn’t one. Maybe he’d have preferred you.”
McGonagall, who was passing by the tables, sputtered at the remark, her strict demeanor faltering as she fought to maintain order. “Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy. Can we please have one meal where we refrain from dragging the deceased into your absurd conversations?”
Draco, unfazed, leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “It’s not our fault, Professor. Potter just insists on keeping his romantic history with Dark Lords secret. I’m merely trying to help him move on.”
Harry snorted.
At that, a few students nearby gasped in shock, while others—those who had been witnesses to their relentless exchange for months—simply snickered behind their hands. McGonagall’s patience had been wearing thin with the pair’s ongoing roast sessions. She sighed heavily, knowing full well that reprimanding them had little effect. “We survived the war,” she muttered to herself, “but I’m not sure we’ll survive Potter and Malfoy.”
Professor Sprout, sitting next to her at the staff table, tried to hide her grin behind her napkin. “You have to admit, it’s better than the duels they used to have.”
McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. “If by ‘better’ you mean ‘worse,’ then yes. Much better.”
Meanwhile on the Slytherin table, the few Slytherin 8th years those who returned suddenly were thinking coming back was one of their best decisions, Blaise leaned back, watching the interaction with mild interest. “Potter’s getting better at this. I’ll give him that.”
Pansy, on the other hand, was scandalized, though not entirely surprised. “Did Harry Potter just suggest Draco was a Voldemort fangirl?”
Daphne chuckled, shaking her head. “Honestly, I think Draco’s just enjoying this. He never gets this animated.”
Theo, ever the instigator, smirked. “If this keeps up, they’ll need a referee.”
Astoria who was a year younger than them huffed, crossing her arms. “It’s unnatural. They’re supposed to hate each other.”
Blaise gave her a sideways glance. “Oh, they still hate each other. Just… with more creativity now.”
On Gryffindor Table however, people couldn’t decide what exactly to feel about this. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Dean, Seamus, and Luna all sat together not really caring about house sorting on breakfast tables anymore. Hermione looked up from her plate, sighing as if she had experienced this a hundred times over—and, to be fair, she had. “This again?”
Ron grinned, leaning back. “It’s impressive, really. I’d give Harry an 8/10 on that last one.”
Ginny laughed, shaking her head. “They’re like an old married couple. Minus the marriage, thank Merlin.”
Dean leaned in, laughing. “Do you think they’ll ever actually hex each other again?”
Seamus was already practically bouncing in his seat, grinning ear to ear. “Forget hexes. I think it’s a bloody miracle they haven’t started snogging yet.”
Luna, ever calm and thoughtful, tilted her head. “They’re very close, aren’t they? It’s like they’re speaking a language only they understand.”
Ron sputtered. “Yeah, a language that sounds like verbal hexes.”
Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. “They’re impossible. Every single time. But somehow, they enjoy it. I just hope they don’t take it too far.”
Ginny gave her a knowing look. “Oh, they definitely will.”
Other Students in the room had long since stopped expecting a fistfight between Harry and Draco. In fact, the first years had learned early on to just avoid the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables when the two got started.
A few older students at the Ravenclaw table shook their heads, completely bemused. “It’s like a bloody circus,” one of them muttered.
“More like a sideshow,” another added, glancing nervously at the professors. “How are they not getting detention for this?”
A few Hufflepuff students simply sighed, going back to their meals. “We’re just glad it’s not an actual duel this time.”
Professor McGonagall was halfway through taking a sip of her tea in the staff corridor when she overheard Draco’s latest jab about Voldemort proposing to Harry. The tea cup paused mid-air as her normally stern face contorted between disbelief and exasperation.
“Merlin’s beard,” she muttered under her breath, glancing over at Professor Flitwick, who was looking wide-eyed at the two boys from behind his spectacles. “They’re at it again, and it’s only Tuesday.”
Flitwick tried, and failed, to suppress a giggle. “It’s... quite creative, don’t you think?”
McGonagall shot him a look. “Creative? It’s absurd! Potter and Malfoy ought to be hexing each other into oblivion with the things they’re saying, yet—” She waved her hand in the air, still confounded. “They act like it’s a game of chess. And I’ll never understand it.” She mutters something like “If only those three were to see this” but that’s neither here nor there.
Professor Sprout was watching the scene unfold with a bemused grin. “At least they’re not duelling anymore. This is… progress, I suppose?”
McGonagall sighed. “Progress? It’s a bloody comedy show. I swear, this school grows stranger every year.”
From across the hall on the Slytherin table, Pansy Parkinson, who had been standing with Daphne Greengrass, stared at the two boys, mouth agape. She turned to Daphne, eyes wide with disbelief. “Did Malfoy just… say that to Potter?”
Daphne snickered, casually brushing her hair back. “Oh, darling, you know they’ve been at this for weeks. It’s like some sort of twisted flirtation at this point.”
Nott leaned lazily against the table, smirking. “Honestly, I think Draco’s just enjoying himself too much. Look at him. He’s practically glowing.”
Pansy rolled her eyes, huffing. “They’re like… like cats playing with their food. Except the food is their dignity.”
Blaise—who had always been more of an observer—nodded sagely, not missing a beat. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they started selling tickets. Honestly, they could pack out the Quidditch stands with this act.”
Theo chuckled, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. “I’m sure Potter could use the extra galleons.”
Pansy shook her head, muttering to herself. “This place has gone completely mental.”
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione was watching Harry with the familiar look of someone who had long since resigned herself to the madness that was her best friend’s life. She shot a glance at Ron, who had an eyebrow raised and a bemused smirk growing on his face.
“He’s going to regret this, you know,” Hermione said quietly, crossing her arms.
Ron snorted. “Regret what? Outdoing Malfoy in a roast battle? Nah, he’s loving this.”
Ginny leaned in, her eyes flickering between Harry and Draco like she was watching a particularly gripping Quidditch match. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or concerned.”
Dean, sitting beside Ginny, whistled softly under his breath. “I’ve gotta say, I didn’t see this one coming. When did Harry get so good at this?”
Seamus, already trying and failing to hold back laughter, shook his head. “Merlin’s knickers, this is brilliant! Did Malfoy actually say he looked post-shag? I mean, you’ve gotta give it to him.”
Luna, sitting on the edge of the Gryffindor bench, tilted her head thoughtfully, her radish earrings swinging with the movement. “I think they’re just communicating in their own way,” she said serenely. “Like a Crumple-Horned Snorkack trying to court another Snorkack. It’s rather sweet, don’t you think?”
Everyone else at the table turned to Luna, momentarily speechless. Ron, the first to recover, laughed. “Yeah, Luna. Real sweet. They’re practically… exchanging vows.”
Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. “Honestly, they’re exhausting. This can’t be healthy.”
Ginny grinned. “Healthy or not, I think I prefer this over the actual hexing.”
The general student body couldn’t quite figure out what they were witnessing. A few first years who had been walking past looked utterly scandalized, their eyes wide as they stared at Draco and Harry, mouths slightly open as if expecting a duel to break out at any moment.
“Did he just say that about You-Know-Who?” one first year whispered to another.
“Yeah, and Potter didn’t even hex him!”
“I thought they hated each other?”
“I don’t get it,” another muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “They’re not even angry. They’re just—”
“Laughing,” a girl completed, her expression one of utter confusion. “Why aren’t they hexing each other?”
A few sixth years standing nearby just exchanged looks that said everything.