Secrets.
“I got a girl crush
I hate to admit it, but
I got a heart rush
It ain’t slowing down.”
October 14th, 1993. – Harrys POV.
It was the first Hogsmeade visit of the year – the first visit in general for the third years – and Harry wasn’t allowed to go.
The night before, Filch had caught Harry in the Astronomy tower and instead of giving him a detention as he usually would, he smiled maliciously and watched with glee as the disappointment sank through Harry’s face when he drawled “That’s your first two Hogsmeade weekends gone, boy. Tut, tut, just be glad I can’t hang you by your ankles in the dungeons – oh how I long to hear the screams.”
Ron and Hermione offered to stay in the castle with Harry until he was permitted to go to the village, but he could clearly see the hope that he would tell them to go without him; so that’s what he did.
The thing was, it didn’t bother Harry in the slightest. He had a plan.
You see, Harry was going to go to Hogsmeade. He wasn’t just going to sit around and have his first visit taken from him. Yes, maybe he was wrong for being out after curfew, but was he going to let the consequences of his own actions stop him?
Nope!
So after his friends had left him with the promise of bringing him back some Cauldron Cakes and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Harry had spun around and made his way back to Gryffindor tower to get his secret weapon – James Potter’s old Invisibility Cloak.
Which led him to where he was now. Invisibly padding through the snowy courtyard, praying to Godric Gryffindor himself that the Weasley twins were too busy with their snowman to notice Harry’s footprints in the snow.
But as always, the world was against Harry. He should have known.
The sound of the freshly fallen snow crunching under Harrys boots drew their attention away from the carrot that Fred and George had obviously charmed into a very rude shape, and gone were the immature giggles, now replaced by mischievous smirks.
They then rushed forward and before Harry could even react, the twins had a firm grip around both of Harry's arms and were dragging him back to the stairs inside the castle.
“Get off!” Harry protested, trying with no luck to shake himself from their hold.
“Clever Harry-” said George.
“-but not clever enough,” Fred finished.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Harry whispered harshly. “I’m trying to get to Hogsmeade!”
“We know. There’s a better way.”
When Harry was freed under the stone staircase, he shrugged off the cloak and glared at the red-headed twins who just laughed at his clear displeasure.
“Don’t pout, Harry. We have something for you,” George grinned, a distinct twinkle in his eye that matched perfectly with the twinkle in his brothers.
“What?” he asked, folding his arms to emphasise how very unimpressed he was.
Fred and George shared a look. When George nodded, Fred reached into his pocket and pulled out... an old piece of parchment?
“Is this one of your pranks?” Harry asked. “What am I supposed to do with a yellowing piece of parchment? Write lines on why I shouldn’t sneak out?” he said sarcastically. “Just let me go, please.”
The roll of their eyes were perfectly synchronised, as were their voices when they said, “Pipe down, Potter. You haven’t even seen what it does yet.”
They cleared their throats and drew their wands, pressing the tips of them to the page and said in unison: “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good” and that shut Harry up instantly.
“Woah, can I see?” Harry asked, pulling the map towards him when Fred – who was looking more amused by the second – held it out to him. He read: “Messrs... Moony,” he paused, eyebrows furrowing, but the Weasley twins didn’t seem to find that strange, so he went on. “Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present The Marauders Map.”
Moony... as in Uncle Moony?
And Padfoot... where had he heard that name before?
“Who’s Padfoot?”
“He was my best friend. We all went to school together, Padfoot, Moony and I. We all pissed off your mother together.”
What in Merlin's name?
Was this James’ map?
Harry looked at Fred and George, whose faces were scrunched in confusion at Harrys reaction to the map. “Where did you get this?”
“Nicked it from Filch’s office back in our first year,” said George.
“But you haven’t seen the best part,” Fred told him and promptly snatched it back. He tapped the tip of his wand to it once more, and when it unravelled further; Harry’s jaw went slack.
“Is that...?”
“Indeed it is, young Harry Potter. A map of Hogwarts. And that,” Fred pointed, “really is Dumbledore.”
“Is he-”
“Pacing?” George answered. “Yeah, he does that a lot.”
“So, you mean to tell me that this map shows everyone?”
“Everyone,” they confirmed at the same time. “Where they are. What they’re doing. Every minute of every day.”
“That’s brilliant! Is this how you plan to pull your pranks off until you graduate?”
“Not anymore,” Fred replied solemnly.
Before Harry could ask why, the map was handed back to him. “It’s yours now. You need it more than we do.”
“Really?” Harry felt like this should be his map, considering it may or may not have been his fathers (probable, but inconclusive. Did his dad have a nickname too? Wormtail sounded a bit weird, but Prongs felt oddly fitting), but he would never demand that they give it to him. It was definitely his uncles though, so he felt weirdly possessive over it.
“Yes. We’ve had plenty of time with The Marauders – we owe them a great deal – but it’s time we passed it on. Now, listen carefully-”
“-you’re trying to get to the village, correct?” Harry nodded. “Right, so you’ll need to take the secret passageway behind the one-eyed witch statue on the third floor.”
“Secret passageway?!” Harry exclaimed.
Fred and George looked horrified. “You still have so much to learn, Ickle Harry. There are 7 secret passageways at Hogwarts. We’ll explain the rest later, but for now; you’ll want to take the one on the third floor. It’s a tunnel that leads right to the Honeydukes Sweet Shop cellar.”
“Thank you! Seriously guys, thank you for this,” Harry said, touched that they would do something so kind for him.
“Don’t mention it, mate,” George told him. “Now, to turn the map back into just a spare bit of parchment, all you have to say is ‘Mischief Managed’. You must remember to do this every time you’re finished with it so it isn’t confiscated by Snape or Filch. Wouldn’t want you to lose it to either of those miserable sods. Anyway, we best be off. Things to mess with, people to prank and all that.”
“You reckon Peeves will plant Dungbombs in the Dungeons with us again?” Fred asked his brother, both of them already walking away from Harry.
And with that interaction over, Harry didn’t even spare a single glance back before he was off, headed straight for the deserted Gryffindor common room. The secret passageway could wait. Harry needed to talk to his dad as soon as possible.
There were only a few first and second years in the common room who barely even noticed as he sprinted passed them in his haste to get to his room.
Dad!
Formalities, blah blah. Anyway!
Moony and Padfoot. They were your friends, but did you have a weird nickname too?
Love you,
Harry
It was short and to the point, but he didn’t mention the map because what if it was James’? He would for sure want to take the map – not with any ill will, but he would probably want to display it or something. Harry couldn’t let that happen, not when there were so many places to discover.
Sorry Dad Harry thought as he draped himself in all things invisibility cloak and ran to the Owlery to send off the letter, hoping for a response before dinner.
Hedwig hooted happily when he lifted the cloak and gave her a treat before tying the letter to her leg. Harry threw the cloak back over himself lazily and watched her fly away, almost jumping out of his skin when he heard a horrified shriek behind him.
He settled when he spun around and almost laughed when he saw Draco Malfoy standing there, wide eyed and impossible pale – paler than usual, concerningly so.
Harry followed his line of sight and- oh.
Yep. That’ll do it.
Harry’s whole body was covered by the cloak. Well, everywhere apart from his foot that was just sticking right out.
So to Malfoy, there was just a foot on the floor of the Owlery. Yep, now Harry was struggling even more to hold in his laughter. Malfoy looked down right appalled.
Putting him out of his misery, Harry took off the cloak with a sheepish grin and immediately, Malfoy let out an exasperated groan.
“Are you ever going to let me send mail in peace?”
“Well-”
“And where in Salazar’s name did you get a cloak of invisibility? Do you know how rare they are? There is only one true invisibility cloak, you know, so yours can’t be as good as that one. Of course you would have one, precious Harry Potter-”
He was cut off by Harry’s laugh, no longer able – or caring – to keep it in. Malfoy looked wholly unimpressed. No longer frozen in horror, he pushed passed Harry with a simple roll of his eyes to get to his owl.
“What are you laughing at, Potter?”
“Oh, you know.”
“I don’t know, otherwise I would not waste my time asking. So?”
“You’re a bit moody today, did you know that? Did I scare you into a bad mood, Malfoy?” Harry asked, grin widening on his face.
“Like you could scare me,” Malfoy grumbled.
“You looked pretty scared. It was pretty funny”
“Oh, that’s why you were laughing? Tell me, do your delusions usually entertain you?”
“Yes,” Harry stated simply, to which Malfoy gave a non-committal scoff. “Sorry for frightening you.”
“Yes, well. You should learn to better cover yourself before that cloak is taken,” Malfoy advised, sending off his mail with a slight smile.
“Please,” Harry snorted, “Dumbledore knows I have it. He borrowed it from my dad a few times during the war. In first year, he told me to use it wisely. I don’t even know how he knew I had it.”
“Strange man,” Malfoy murmured quietly. He met Harry’s eye then, and there was none of that usual anger. Maybe just a little scepticism, but Harry could work with that. He thought that maybe they were becoming... friends? Of some sort? Maybe “What are you actually doing here, Potter? Are you stalking me or something?”
“Oh, yes. How did you know?”
“...you were?”
Harry busted out laughing. “No, Malfoy, obviously not! Gods, why would I wait for you here of all places?”
Malfoy flushed all the way down to his neck, spluttering. “Well I don’t know! Why are you here?!”
“Hm, what would one be doing in the Owlery?” Harry wondered sarcastically. “I don't know, Malfoy, I can’t think of a single logical reason. Care to help me out?”
Malfoy let out an embarrassed huff, piercing Harry with an annoyed look that didn’t quite give the affect it was meant to when paired with an amused twitch of his lips. “Ha, ha. Hilarious, Potter.”
“Hey, you asked,” Harry replied, a goofy grin spread wide across his face.
“Regretfully,” he said, which only made Harry chuckle. “I will assume that Granger and Weasley know about your cloak. Does anyone else?”
“Apart from my parents? No. Just those lot, Dumbledore, and you. Oh, and Fred and George, but that’s it.”
“Is it a secret, then?”
Harry considered him for a second, humming. “No,” he finally said.
“But you would like to keep it that way?” Malfoy asked quietly.
Harry nodded. He liked the feeling of anonymity when using the cloak. He didn’t want that feeling to go away, but he felt that if too many people knew, that’s what would happen. So, yes. He would like it to stay quiet.
“Why aren’t you at Hogsmeade?” Malfoy asked, gaze studying him.
“Caught out after curfew. Two week ban, can you believe it?”
“Filch?”
“Filch,” Harry nodded with a sigh. “Why aren’t you there?”
“I’ve visited the village plenty of times with my parents. I’m not missing out on anything I haven’t already experienced,” he said, and it suddenly hit Harry with full force that this is the longest and most civil conversation he’s ever had with Malfoy.
Would Ron be upset?
Shaking Ron from his mind, Harry cleared his throat and focused back on the conversation at hand.
“What have you been doing all day? I didn’t see you at lunch.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I was studying, Potter, a concept surely lost on you. I wasn’t aware that you were my keeper.”
Despite the comment, his tone was anything but nasty. It was playful. Friendly.
Harry felt like his head was spinning.
“What could you possibly be studying for?” Harry asked incredulously, ignoring the comment about being his keeper. “It isn’t even Halloween yet!”
“Knowledge is important. I simply revise and quiz myself. Maybe it would do you well to do the same once in a while.”
“You sound like Hermione,” Harry commented with a fond smile.
Malfoy shuddered at the thought. “Have you ever thought about listening to her? As much as it pains me to say, there is a reason she’s top of the year.”
Harry laughed. “That really did pain you to say, didn’t it?”
“Dreadfully so,” said Malfoy, a grin of his own forming. It was blinding.
It was gone as soon as it arrived, though, when he dropped a scrap of parchment on the stone floor and Harry immediately picked it up. His face flamed red as he shot forward, taking it from Harry before he could unfold it.
Harry pierced him with a confused look, but Malfoy wouldn’t meet his eye.
“What was that?” Harry asked, ever so nosy. What can he say? He’s a Potter.
“Nothing.”
“Something from your mother? You don’t have to be embarrassed. I love my mother, too.”
Malfoy shook his head jerkily. “Shut up, Potter. It’s not from my mother. It’s mine.”
“Oh, study notes then?”
“No.”
Harry raised a brow, still not able to catch his eye. “Why are you acting strange?”
“I’m not acting strange!”
“You... are, actually. Go on, what’s on the parchment?”
Malfoy hesitantly met his eye. “Why do you care?”
“I’m interested,” Harry shrugged. “It’s in my blood to be nosy.”
Malfoy snorted, shaking his head in what looked to be disbelief. “Isn’t that the truth.”
“So?”
“Fine! It’s a poem. Happy now? It’s just a stupid poem!”
“A poem? Did you write it?”
A pause, and then: “Yes.”
“Cool. Can I read it?” Harry asked, genuinely interested. He never really had an interest in poetry, but for some reason, he felt compelled to see Malfoys.
Malfoy’s face twisted into a sneer. Defensive. “Why would I let you do that?”
“Because I’m interested,” Harry said simply. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to see. I can respect that. Just thought I’d try my luck.”
“You-” Malfoy hesitated. “Your luck?”
“Yep,” Harry smiled, “I would consider myself lucky to see your poem.”
An almost inaudible “Oh” fell from Malfoys lips and Harry watched as the tension drained from his body.
“Okay,” Malfoy said.
“Okay? I can read it?”
“Yes,” he said, handing Harry the poem. “But don’t you dare make fun of me or I will kill you.”
“I’m terrified,” Harry said flatly, smiling at him in thanks as he took the poem. “Are you sure I can read this?” He didn’t want to cross a line. Make Malfoy feel forced.
“I’m sure, Potter,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “But... if you hate it, don’t tell me, okay?”
“I won’t hate it, Malfoy,” Harry said softly. The vulnerability in Malfoys eyes made him give an encouraging smile. “But on the off chance that I do, I promise that I won’t tell you.”
Malfoy searched his eyes for a moment and seemed to come to a conclusion. He nodded his head and shut his eyes, as if shielding himself from Harry’s future reaction to the poem. “Okay. You can read it now.”
Harry unfolded the parchment and ran his eyes over the neat scrawl. Malfoy truly had impeccable handwriting.
Flames lick her tongue
As she prepares to spit fire
He once was half of her;
He's now just her father
He built up her world
Then tore it to pieces
What was he thinking?
Well here is my thesis:
He could not deal
With the pressure that ached
For after so long
He could no longer take
He became highly strung
And man it was hard
Wept as he wrung
The blood from her heart
No longer her daddy
Just a man far detached
“It’s alright,” she says
“I’ll heal once my wound has been patched.”
Harry sucked in a harsh breath.
Malfoy winced. “You hate it.”
Harrys eyes widened as he looked away from the page. “No! No, no, no. Malfoy, this is- this is beautiful. Is it- I mean, what... inspired this?”
“You think it’s beautiful?” Malfoy asked, sounding almost disbelieving.
Harry nodded. “I do, truly. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you,” he said shyly. “I don’t usually carry them around with me, but I wrote this one this morning and I-”
“Malfoy.”
“Hm?”
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Harry told him gently, handing back the poem. He could tell that this was a delicate subject and he was feeling quite special for being allowed to see it. “Thank you for letting me see this.”
“Why are you thanking me?”
“Poetry is personal,” Harry said, and Malfoy nodded.
Harry could see that Malfoy was uncomfortable with Harry’s presence. It wasn’t a personal thing, just simply that Malfoy had laid part of his soul bare to Harry – who Malfoy has never even considered a friend, or anything close to that – and it was a lot for him. Because poetry does come from the soul. It’s delicate and beautiful and raw.
“Would you like me to leave?” Harry asked quietly.
Malfoy looked up at him, clearly struggling to hold Harry's gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that-”
“What did I say about not having to explain yourself to me?” Harry asked playfully.
Malfoy sighed, a breath of relief probably, and nodded. “Okay. I would like to be alone now.”
“Okay, Malfoy. Thank you again. Enjoy your day.”
“The same to you, Potter.”
Harry picked up his cloak from where it was left discarded on the floor and turned for the stairs.
“Potter?”
Harry turned around to see Malfoy anxiously running his fingers over the parchment. “Yeah, Malfoy?”
There was a slight pause before Malfoy regarded him again. “I won’t tell anyone about the cloak.”
Harry smiled, a warm feeling flowing through him. “I won’t tell anyone about the poem.”
Malfoy smiled. “Thank you, Potter.”
“No,” Harry said. “Thank you.”
With a final grin, Harry threw the cloak over himself – careful to cover his feet – and left Malfoy behind in the Owlery.
There were still a few hours until Ron and Hermione were due back from Hogsmeade, but rather than making use of the secret passage, he instead went back to his dorm and studied.
You know. Just because.
The rest of the day went by quickly. Ron was shocked and quite frankly worried to find Harry studying, while Hermione – who followed Ron up to the third year Gryffindor boys room – was absolutely delighted. She even told him they could make study notes and quiz each other.
Yeah. Harry was already regretting it.
Over dinner, Malfoy caught Harry’s eye and smirked when Hermione yelled at Ron loud enough for the entire Hall to hear, “Ron! Cut it out! Harry isn’t sick because you found him studying. Some people actually care about marks!”
Harry’s blush had nothing to do with Malfoy. Nothing. Obviously.
He wasn’t embarrassed. He was just studying; it’s not like Malfoy had anything to do with it.
Obviously.
That being said, Harry quickly broke the eye contact and was suddenly very interested in his cottage pie.
He didn’t have to feign interest in his food for much longer though, because Hedwig was swooping down to greet him with a response from his dad.
Possibly too enthusiastically, Harry untied the envelope from Hedwigs leg and ripped it open (carefully), half-heartedly feeding her a small chunk of bread. She nipped his finger playfully and flew off, bread trapped in her beak – most likely going to find a nice place to savour it, the greedy thing.
Ignoring Ron who was peering over his shoulder to see who the letter was from, Harry unfolded it and read:
Hello to you too, son.
You sure get straight to the point, don’t you?
To answer your question: yes, I also had a nickname. You’re talking to the one and only Prongs Potter. You know, like a stag? Apparently, my hair is so messy that it resembles antlers? Can you believe it? I personally think I look dashing, whether or not I resemble a stag.
I miss you very much. I know, I’m clingy. It’s only been 6 weeks, but I’m counting down the days until you come home for Christmas.
I love you! Don’t forget to cause some mischief!
Your father,
Prongs.
Harry couldn’t help his reaction. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed because yes! The Marauders Map did belong to his dad. To Moony. Harry's heart soared at the idea that he had something that Moony once had.
Because he’s had plenty of things given to him by his dad, the cloak included, but he’s never had anything that belonged to his uncle and now that he did, he was so happy.
He knew that it was Moony’s before his dad's confirmation. It was obvious. But because it was something that was shared between his dad and uncle? That made it even better.
“Harry? What is it?” Hermione said, and Harry realised that he was standing up and all eyes were on him. He could feel Malfoy’s gaze the most prominently.
Not now, Harry, you idiot! Stop being weird!
He really needed to sort out this Malfoy situation.
What he missed, however, was the soft smile that Malfoy tried his best to hide at Harry’s outward display of happiness.
“Earth to Harry?”
“Oh,” Harry looked around, flames licking his face. He caught Professor Lupins curious eye and smiled, nodding his head as if to tell him that everything was okay. He nodded back, smiling that kind smile of his.
He sat down. “Sorry. My dad just answered a question I had. I’ll explain later.”
“Are you sure you’re not ill?” Ron asked warily. Hermione just rolled her eyes and told him to eat his dinner.
***
October 21st, 1993.
Ron and Hermione went off to Hogsmeade again after a lot of convincing on Harry’s part. They insisted on staying back and waiting until next weekend when all three of them could go together, but honestly, Harry really just wanted to search the passage by himself.
And anyway, not all of them could fit under Harry’s cloak.
So that lead to where he was now. Innocently roaming the halls – more specifically, the third-floor corridor.
Finally, he found the one-eyed witch statue and made his way to it, but he froze in his tracks when he heard a familiar voice call out to him.
When he turned, he came face to face with Professor Remus Lupin.
“Uh, hello.”
“Hello, Harry,” he replied kindly, but the smirk on his face told Harry that he knew he was up to something. “Doing anything today?”
“No, sir. I’m still banned from the village,” Harry said, looking up at him as innocently as possible.
“Ah,” Professor Lupin smiled. “And when is it that you’re permitted to visit?”
“Oh, not until next weekend.”
“I’ll bet you’re not planning on breaking any rules in the meantime, are you, Harry?” Lupin asked with a certain glimmer in his eye.
“Of course not, I’ve learned my lesson!” Harry told him with false enthusiasm. He sounded guilty even to his own ears. He could tell that Professor Lupin could see right through him.
“I shall let you enjoy your day then. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” he said and promptly went on his way. Harry stood there for a second, utterly confused by the interaction. He knew that Harry was lying. Weird.
Oh well. Harry drew his wand to open the statue, but before any words left his mouth, it opened by itself. Harry spun around to find Professor Lupin standing there with his wand drawn and a cheeky grin on his face.
“In the Honeydukes cellar, there are a load of loose nails sticking out of the floorboards. Be careful not to catch one on the cloak because it will tear,” and with a final wink, he rounded the corner and was out of sight.
What the hell was that.
Did his professor just give him advice on how to sneak out of the castle or was that some crazy hallucination?
For a moment, and then a few more, Harry just stood there, completely stunned.
Well.
Thanks, sir.
He quickly jogged behind the statue and pulled it shut behind him.
The tunnel was huge. Wide and very long. Dark, too. He cast a quick Lumos and continued on, feet dragging in the dirt.
It took maybe half an hour for him to make it to the door underneath the Honeydukes cellar and the smell of chocolate was very tempting on his empty stomach.
Once his cloak was secured around him, he lifted the wooden door and pulled himself up into the cellar. Professor Lupin was right. There are a lot of loose nails. How did he know?
There was no one down there, but strangely, there was a goat.
His boots left prints in the snow, but luckily no one was paying attention enough to notice. He was on his way to the Three Broomsticks – Ron claimed he’s addicted to butterbeer – but when he got there, there was a sign that said no underaged wizards were permitted entry for the day.
As he turned to leave, he heard a name that stopped him in his tracks.
“Sirius Black?! Why would Sirius Black come to Hogsmeade?”
“Harry Potter,” Professor McGonagall whispered in reply. But Harry heard her. And he didn’t waste a moment before he followed as McGonagall and Minister Fudge herded the other woman into the pub. Rosmerta, he recalled Ron tell him.
All Harry could think was Sirius Black really is after me. I’m in danger. Why didn’t my parents tell me?
They went up the stairs behind the bar and into a room that Harry assumed was Rosmerta’s living room. He made it through right before Fudge closed the door and waited in anticipation when the world seemed to pause around him.
This was the moment that Harry was finally going to find out why he had a random murderous lunatic after him. The moment that he was going to find out why said lunatic escaped prison to come after him. The moment that he was going to find out what it was that he did to cause this to happen.
It felt like a big moment.
“As you may very well know, Sirius Black was and still is a loyal follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” said the Minister for Magic.
Oh, just call him Voldemort Harry thought with a roll of his eyes. What’s he going to do? Rise from the dead to scold you?
“Yes, I remember. I still find it hard to believe, I mean– he always tried so hard to separate himself from his family. He charmed me, back when he was at Hogwarts, always with those friends of his. It is a tragedy,” Madam Rosmerta said, a deep furrow between her brows.
“He had us all fooled. Especially those friends of his. You remember Peter Pettigrew? One of those friends, the one that he killed in cold blood? It... he... it was horrible, Rosmerta. All that was left of him was a finger. A single finger.”
Harry’s breath hitched in his throat. He knew that Sirius Black was a murderer, but this? This was awful. Did he plan to kill Harry that way? Cut him up and discard his body, only leaving behind a singular finger? Or would it be one of his limbs?
For the first time since he found out his life was in danger, he felt scared. Not angry, not frustrated or annoyed. Scared.
I want my parents. I miss my mum and dad.
“I taught that boy for seven years and if there is one thing that I learned about him, it’s that Sirius Black adored his friends. He truly hated his family as well. He begged myself and Dumbledore multiple times to save his brother, Regulus Black, from his parents, from their beliefs. We did not however have the power to do so, and when Regulus died, I believe that Sirius snapped. I cannot think of a single other reason that would cause him to turn to Lord Voldemort,” McGonagall said solemnly. Harry noted the sad purse of her lips. “It is still hard to believe that he would betray James and Lily Potter in the manner that he did.”
What?
“You know, James and Sirius always came to my pub together? Most of the time with the other two mischief makers,” McGonagall smiled almost nostalgically at Rosmerta’s words. It was still sad, though. “Though, if it wasn’t the four of them; it was always Potter and Black. Attached at the hip, those two. And to think that Sirius is after James’ son... it’s devastating. How could he do this?”
“Ah! You think that it is devastating now... Yes, it is a shock that Black would betray the Potters so violently and so carelessly, and to now try and kill Harry. But… it gets worse.” Fudge trailed off, looking to McGonagall with a glint in his eye that turned Harry’s stomach.
McGonagall raised her head from where she was staring at her hands. It shocked Harry to see that there was a film of tears that glazed her eyes.
“Sirius Black is Harry Potter’s godfather.”
The word stopped spinning. Harry’s lungs were robbed of all oxygen. The room fell silent, but it was so loud. So, so very loud. His ears were ringing and he couldn’t breathe.
My what?
I have a godfather?
And he wants to kill me?
What?
It didn’t occur to Harry that he was supposed to be quiet and hidden when an audible sound of despair was ripped from his body as he fled the room. He flung the door open so violently that it crashed into the wall and ricocheted back, slamming closed again.
Harry couldn’t find it within himself to care. Because Sirius Black, the man who was actively trying to find him and kill him, was his godfather.
Why didn’t they tell me?
His anger was misplaced, but all he wanted to do was scream at his parents. He’s never had that urge before, but now it was here and it was strong. How could they keep this from him?
He doesn’t remember making it back to the castle. He doesn’t even remember getting in bed or under the covers, but he must’ve been there for hours because the door suddenly slammed open and when he looked up to see who it was, his eyes ran over the window and it was dark outside.
“Harry! Harry, you’ll never guess where– Harry?”
It was Ron. He halted in the doorway when he laid eyes on his best friend.
“What’s wrong? Are you ill? Should we go to the infirmary?”
“I’m fine,” Harry said, eyes unfocused as he stared at the red curtains of his bed.
“Okay,” Ron said warily. “Hermione is waiting for us in the Common Room. Let’s go have dinner, yeah?”
“Okay,” Harry said robotically.
He followed Ron and Hermione to the Great Hall. Dinner was a blur. Ron was talking about Zonko’s joke shop through mouthfuls of sausage, but Hermione definitely picked up on Harrys foul mood, because she told Ron to shut up and believe it or not; he did. They ate in silence after that.
He felt like he was grieving. He didn’t know why.
When they made it back to the Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione studied, Ron played Wizard’s Chess against himself and Harry just sat on the sofa with his knees pulled up to his chest and stared into the fire, willing himself not to cry.
Because he wasn’t angry or scared anymore. He was just sad.
Still angry with his parents, yes, because how could they just not tell him something like this? But sad for the family member that he lost. Sad for the loss of his dad’s supposed best friend. Sad because... did his parents not trust him?
Eventually the Common Room emptied and only Harry, Ron and Hermione were left. Of course, that’s when Hermione took her chance to pry.
“Is everything okay, Harry?” she asked delicately.
He grunted in response. “’m fine.”
“Are you sure, mate? You’ve been off ever since we got back from Hogsmeade. Is it because we went without you? We really wouldn’t have if you didn’t say it was f-”
“I said that I’m fine! I’m fine, okay?!” Harry lashed, making Hermione flinch and Ron stutter. He’s never yelled at his friends before.
“Harry-”
“No, Hermione! Gods, will you two get off my bloody back?!”
He didn’t stay long enough to catch a reply. Instead, he stormed into his room, surely disturbing his dormmates but not caring in his anger to check and grabbed his invisibility cloak, leaving the Common Room altogether and rushing furiously to the Owlery.
Because yep. The anger was back. Mindless fury rushed through his very bloodstream and he needed answers now.
He didn’t even stop to give Hedwig a treat. No, he snatched a piece of old parchment and a quill with wonky feathers and scribbled out a note to send to his parents. To hell with the late hour. He needed an answer by breakfast time.
How could you keep something like this from me? I’m your son! What did I ever do that made you not trust me?
And that was it. That was all he sent. No ‘hello’, not even his name signed at the bottom.
It was a long day. He was so tired.
Tired as he was, though. He wasn’t ready to go back to his dorm. Ron would surely be waiting up for him and honestly? Harry just needed to find somewhere he would be truly alone to just cry. It’s all he felt strong enough to do. Cry.
So he went to the Astronomy tower.
Deserted and still. Perfect.
It was calm up there, in the highest point of the castle. He sat with his legs dangling, head resting on his arms that laid upon the cold, metal railing.
His tears were silent. A constant, silent stream that he could not stop from falling.
Not even when the door opened behind him.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” the voice said from the door. Harry heard it shut, and the footsteps continued towards him. “I wonder, will I ever walk into a room and find it Harry Potter-less?”
Harry didn’t reply. Couldn’t.
“Surely your bed would be a more comfortable place to sleep tonight, no?” Malfoy drawled teasingly, sitting down beside Harry. He turned his head away from Malfoy, protecting his vulnerability, maybe. Harry didn’t know.
“Ignoring me, Potter?”
The silence on Harry’s end turned the easy air around them into something awkward, something full of tension.
Harry’s eyes were still streaming heavily, and when he accidentally let out a little sniffle, Malfoy gasped quietly.
He hesitated before he spoke again. “Harry?”
That got Harry to turn his head. His first name falling from Malfoys lips was unexpected. What was even more unexpected though, was the soft worry that sounded around his name.
“Just leave me alone, Malfoy,” Harry whispered, embarrassed.
As Malfoy took in Harry’s red nose and tear-stained cheeks, a crease formed between his brows. Harry was mortified. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, turning away again as he wiped his face roughly with the back of his sleeve. He was wearing his dad’s old jumper. A thoroughly loved hand-me-down. It made Harry cry even harder.
“Nothing?” Malfoy snorted, clearly unconvinced as he looked at Harry’s obviously distressed form.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Harry said rudely. “If you’re going to make fun of me, I’d rather you just bugger off.”
Malfoy made a sound of protest. “Now, now, Potter. No need for that.”
“Please, Malfoy,” Harry begged pathetically, followed by another defeated sniffle.
“And what if I’m not going to make fun of you?” Malfoy asked gently.
“What?”
“If I’m quiet, can I stay with you?”
Harry looked at him again, really looked. Searched for insincerity. He didn’t find it.
“Okay,” he whispered back.
So that’s what he did. He stayed with Harry in complete silence. He didn’t take the mickey out of him once, not even when he whimpered and buried his face in his hands when his mind wandered to Moony. Was that why Moony left? Because Sirius Black betrayed them?
Strangely, even through their palpable silence, Harry felt comforted by Malfoys presence.
He refused to entertain the reason why.
***
It was Tuesday now, and Harry had been ignoring his parents worried Owls.
Call him dramatic, but it felt justified. They may not have lied, but they withheld important information and it pissed Harry off.
Harry,
What are you talking about, honey?
Get back to us and we can talk about whatever has made you so upset.
We love you so much.
That one was from his mum. He would recognise her elegant handwriting anywhere.
Haz?
What’s wrong, mate?
I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I promise that we trust you. Of course we trust you, you’re our favourite person in this world – muggle and magical.
Whatever it is that’s bothering you, we can talk about it. We can talk about anything that you want.
We love and miss you so much. Xx
That was from James. He ignored that one, too.
They kept coming, growing more and more worried by the day. It had only been three days since he sent his own angry message, and when Harry hadn’t replied on Sunday and on Monday morning, they had started to send one with every meal. Lunch and dinner on Monday, and breakfast and lunch on Tuesday.
Which lead to where Harry was now. It was the end of his second last class of the day – Defence Against the Dark Arts – and Professor Lupin had been sending Harry worried glances all lesson. Through every meal yesterday, too, so it shouldn’t have surprised Harry when the professor asked him to stay back after class to talk. It did, though.
“Are you alright, Harry?” he asked when the rest of the class had filed out.
“I’m fine,” Harry said, not meeting his eye. He considered telling him the truth, but he found that he was angry with his professor, too. Did he know? He knew James, which meant he must have known Sirius. It’s not possible that he didn’t know, at the very least, that Sirius Black betrayed his parents.
So he left the classroom without another word. Professor Lupin was mid-sentence when Harry turned on his heel and simply walked out of the room. It was hard to feel guilty over disrespecting his favourite professor when he felt betrayed by him, too.
Transfiguration was his last class of the day and it passed by quick enough.
When the bell sounded, Professor McGonagall told the class: “You are dismissed. Potter, I would ask you to please accompany me to my office.”
Instead of responding, he just nodded to his friends and followed his professor.
He graciously opened the door for her when they reached her office and swept in behind her. He closed the door and took a seat when she offered, silent through the whole ordeal.
Did she know he was there in Hogsmeade on Saturday?
She didn’t sit down. She stood by her desk and fixed him with a piercing gaze before sighing. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I have brought you here, Mr Potter.”
But before he could reply, the floo lit up and out came– his... dad? Harry scoffed and turned his glare on McGonagall, who pretended to finger through some files on her desk. Next came his mother, who he frowned at and again, turned back to look at McGonagall.
Both of them were visibly hurt by his reaction to seeing them and instantly, a spike of guilt shot painfully through him. He didn’t want to hurt them, never. He loved them so much; he was just so angry. Most of all, though – he was hurt.
“James, Lily,” said McGonagall, sounding pleased. “It’s good to see you both.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Minnie,” James replied cheekily, earning himself a stern look from both his wife and his former professor.
“Hello, Professor,” Lily greeted politely. “It’s nice to see you.”
“I shall leave you three to talk as a family,” McGonagall told them. She looked at Harry. “Have a biscuit, Potter. You look like you need one.”
Instantly, James cheered and reached for the biscuit tin on McGonagall’s desk.
“I was talking to Harry, James, but they’re welcome to you all,” said McGonagall, amused.
She was quick to leave after that, and Harry was left to stare at the wall as his parent's gazes fell on him.
Lily and James sat on the sofa across from Harry, who felt his stubborn anger chip away second by second. He missed his parents, no matter how mad he was.
“Harry,” Lily started quietly. “Will you look at us please?”
Reluctantly, he looked at them. His heart clenched at the sight of them. They looked worried.
“Will you tell us what your letter was about?” James asked softly.
“Oh, you know,” Harry started, heavy on the attitude. “Just found out that I have a godfather–” He ignored James’ sharp intake of breath and continued. “a murderer, no less. Thanks for letting me know.”
James and Lily shared a look that Harry couldn’t decipher and their hands connected, resting on James’ knee.
“How did you find out?” his mother asked, her tone careful.
“I went to Hogsmeade and heard McGonagall and Fudge tell Rosmerta.”
“I thought you were banned from Hogsmeade until next weekend?” James asked, confused.
“I am.”
“Then how– oh. The cloak. Right, carry on.”
“Never mind the cloak,” Lily chided, but didn’t continue. She seemed at a loss for words. Just like Harry was when he found out about his godfather.
The anger rose once more. “What? Nothing to say to that? Are you going to lie and tell me that they were wrong?”
“Harry,” James pleaded, his shoulders tense and his face scrunched in pain. “We won’t lie to you. Whatever you want to know, we’ll tell you. Please just... we didn’t keep this from you because we don’t trust you. Of course we trust you. You haven’t ever given us any reason not to.”
Harry huffed. “Why didn’t you tell me I have a godfather?”
“He’s been in prison for 12 years, Harry. We didn’t want to hurt you,” Lily told him, eyes glimmering with tears.
“But you’re hurt by it. Both of you, I can see that you are,” Harry whispered, head hanging forward and eyes shutting in pain, because if his parents were in pain, so was he. Simple as that.
“Oh, Bambi,” James said, moving to crouch in front of Harry. “We’re okay. Isn’t that right, Lils? We’re okay.”
“We’ll always be okay when we have you, Harry. Always,” she agreed.
“I won’t interrogate you. Not about this, but I have to know... why didn’t you warn me that he’s coming for me?”
James choked on a pained noise and brought his head to Harry’s knees. His voice was muffled when he replied. “We don’t believe that he is. He wouldn’t do that to me. To you. To us.”
Harry looked to his mother, tears in his own eyes now. His dad sounded so sad. “He already betrayed you once...” he said sadly.
“No,” James denied, shaking his head. Seeing his dad in such a state of denial was heart-wrenching.
Changing the subject, Lily asked: “Is there anything else you would like to ask, love?”
“No, I–” He stopped himself, because yes, there was something else. “Why didn’t you tell me that you know Professor Lupin?”
James tensed instantly. Slowly, he looked up to meet Harry’s gaze. “What?”
Harry rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t any anger left in him. He shrugged. “He accidentally told me that ‘I’m definitely my father's child’ and then he looked all scared. But then we talked about how he knew you guys in school and I understand why he didn’t tell me. But why didn’t you?”
Both of his parents looked relieved at that. Harry couldn’t work out why.
“We didn’t want to tell you in case you asked him about it. We didn’t want to make Remus feel like he had to get in contact with us or something. The war was hard on him,” Lily told him, a gentle smile on her face. She looked really fond of him, just by that brief mention of him.
“Yeah, he told me,” Harry replied, smiling at his mother to express that he was no longer angry with her.
“You really like him, don’t you, mate?” James asked, finally looking up at Harry with a watery smile.
“I do, he’s great, but...” Harry trailed off, feeling guilty. “I was a bit rude to him today. He didn’t even do anything, but I was angry because if he knows you, that means he knew Sirius. I was upset that he never told me, but– well, I guess I know now that I should never have been upset with him,” he looked at his dad sheepishly. “I should apologise, shouldn’t I?”
“Yeah, Haz, you probably should. I have no doubt that he will forgive you. He was a moody teenager once, too, you know?” James said with a goofy grin.
“I can picture that,” Harry laughed.
“Oh, he was always so moody, wasn’t he?” Lily giggled, her cheeks pink and beautiful.
James pinched Harry’s knee lightly, mischief dancing in his eyes. “You know who was moodier, though?”
“Who?” Harry asked.
“Snape,” James snorted. “Though, I guess he was less moody and more just perpetually miserable.”
“James Potter! You’d think after all these years that your silly little school-boy rivalry would calm down, but no. Honestly!” Lily scolded, though even she could not hide the amusement in her tone.
Harry cackled along with his father, but fell awkwardly silent when James said, “Harry knows as well as I do that your first school rivalry never really goes away. Right, Harry?”
When the silence lingered, Harry cleared his throat and looked at his mother with a faux-innocent grin. “Snape is miserable, though.”
When she began to chuckle, James cut in with a question of his own.
“Why did you just change the subject?”
“I didn’t,” Harry said very suspiciously.
He had always been a terrible liar.
“Yes, you did. Are you and Draco Malfoy not ‘sworn enemies’ anymore?” James asked curiously.
Harry blushed and stuttered. “W-what? What do you mean?”
“Oh, James. You’re right! Look at him, he’s so embarrassed!” Lily exclaimed with delight. “You are adorable Harry!”
“Mum! Stop it!” Harry said bashfully.
“There’s no shame in being friends with him, mate. Even if you were telling us no less than 3 months ago that he is insufferable and will be your enemy forever,” James teased, and Harry couldn’t even argue. That is exactly what he said. Word for word.
“I think we’re friends,” Harry told them nervously. “I’m not really sure. We’ve had a few conversations and stuff, but never with any of my friends or his around.”
“And how do you feel about it? These conversations?” Lily asked kindly.
“I don’t know. He’s so annoying, but– but in a good way. He’s funny,” Harry felt his ears go warm and he avoided his parents' eyes. “I don’t even know if we are friends, but I don’t think Ron would be happy about it if he found out that we’ve been civil.”
“I think Ron will have some complicated feelings, yes,” James told him. “But I think that he will understand eventually. He’s a good friend, that Ron. I’m sure he’ll be happy that you’re happy.”
“I am happy,” Harry said, because it was true. He was happy.
Yeah, he’d spent a few days being anything but, but before that, before the weekend; he’d been the happiest he’s ever been. All the frustration he’d been harbouring had disappeared in McGonagall’s office, mere minutes ago.
“I love you,” he told them, so sincere that he could feel it in his bones.
“We love you, too, sweetheart,” Lily said sweetly.
“We do, Haz, so much. How could we not love you?” James said, standing up and leaning in to press a light kiss to Harry’s hair.
“We best be off now, it’s almost time for you to have dinner,” Lily said, making James groan theatrically.
“Ugh, what I wouldn’t do for another Hogwarts feast,” James cried, dramatically wiping his non-existent tears. “I guess I’ll settle on taking a biscuit for the road.”
Harry raised a brow. “You literally flooed here. No road involved.”
James pretended to weep as he shoved his fist greedily into the biscuit tin. “Let me have this.”
“Okay, Dad,” Harry chuckled. “I better go and find Ron and Hermione. I haven’t been the most pleasant company,” he told them sheepishly. “I owe them an apology, too.”
Lily stood up and walked over to her boys with a loving smile on her face. Harry would say it forever and ever; she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. The love in his heart expanded every time he looked at her, the same way it did whenever he looked at his father. They were the best parents Harry could ever ask for. He shouldn’t have treated them so badly. He felt ashamed.
“We’re very proud of you, honey. You’re growing into an exceptional man,” she told him, cupping his cheeks in her palms.
“Mum...” said Harry, blushing hard. He could never take a compliment, not when it was so genuine and from the heart.
“We’re counting down the days until you come home for Christmas,” James cut in, a firm hand landing on Harry’s shoulder, comforting and warm. James was a big man with a big presence, but he was gentle in everything that he did. He loved hard and completely, wearing his heart on his sleeve and never failing to bring positivity in the hardest of times. If there was anything that Harry wanted out of life, it was to become even half of the man that his dad was. “I love you, kid.”
“I love you, too, Dad,” he replied earnestly, grinning up at him before turning back to his mother. “I love you, Mum.”
“Oh,” Lily choked, brushing Harry’s messy hair away from his head to place a kiss upon his temple. “I love you more.”
They came together in a three person embrace and clung tight, knowing that it’d be their last for at least six weeks. It was over before Harry was ready to let go, but he didn’t argue when they told him to go and find his friends.
He didn’t leave until they had vanished through the floo, and as soon as they had; he was off in a haste to apologise to his friends.
He rushed through the halls, dodging students and professors alike, only stopping when he passed Professor Lupin’s classroom. The door was ajar and Harry could just make out Lupin’s frame sat behind his desk through the small opening. He wasn’t planning to seek his professor out, but Harry owed him an apology, too, so he pushed open the door and knocked lightly on the frame.
Professor Lupin looked up and an instant smile took form on his face when he spotted Harry. That always happened. He was so kind to Harry.
“Ah, Harry. Come in.”
“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Harry told him as he walked into the room. “But I would like to speak with you, if you’re not too busy?”
He smiled, flicking his wand to stop the hum of music spinning on his turn-table. He closed the book he seemed to be absorbed in and nodded towards the table directly in front of his desk. “Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked warmly.
“Um, not exactly,” Harry said, feeling suddenly ashamed of his previous behaviour. He met the professor's eye, needing him to know that his next words were wholly truthful. “I wanted to apologise for the way I behaved earlier. It was unacceptable, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me since the day we met. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that, Harry. I understand that it wasn’t my business to pry,” Professor Lupin told him, gaze softening into something almost familial.
“You weren’t prying, Professor. You were just checking on me, which I really appreciate,” Harry protested.
“And I was... correct in my assumption that you needed to be checked on?” he asked delicately.
“Yes,” Harry admitted. “There has been something on my mind that has made me into a very rude version of myself. But I’m okay now.”
Treading lightly, Lupin asked: “Would you like to talk about it?”
Harry snorted, “Well, you know. Just found out that I have a murderous godfather and stuff,” His professor visibly winced, recoiling as if he had taken a physical blow to the gut. Harry sighed. “You already knew that, didn’t you?”
Professor Lupin nodded apologetically, but before he could explain himself, Harry shook his head and held up his hand. It was effective, for the Professor closed his mouth and waited for Harry to continue. “I’m not mad. I was ignoring my mum and dad so they flooed into McGonagall’s office and we had a conversation about it. I... was mad. But I’m not anymore. It wasn’t fair of me to hold that against them.”
Lupin’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened and he looked hopeful. “They were here?”
“Yeah. I may or may not have sent an angry message their way and then ignored them for a few days. They were worried,” he said, abashed as he avoided eye contact.
“Oh,” he breathed, almost inaudibly. “And they’re... gone?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said, seeming a little put out. “Are you okay now, Harry?”
“I’m okay,” Harry promised. “My parents have a way of making me feel better about anything. I love them very much.”
“They’re very special people,” Remus told him, certain of his words. “I have no doubt that they love you more than anything.”
“They do,” Harry confirmed, smiling happily. “Anyway, I should get going, I just want to apologise again for the way I acted. It won’t happen again, sir.”
“It’s quite alright, Harry. There is no need to be sorry,” Professor Lupin told him. “Off you go now, I’m sure you have better company to keep than an old man like me.”
Harry gave him a goofy, lopsided grin. “You’re only like 50, sir. You’re not that old,” he joked, cackling when Professor Lupin squawked in offence.
“Goodness me, Harry, 50?! I hope you don’t say things like that to your father, he’d go grey all over!”
“I have to remind him! His head would become too big for his body if I let him keep thinking he was young and youthful,” Harry said, still laughing, now joined by his teacher.
“I’m glad you’re around to keep him humble, kid. Never change,” Lupin said warmly.
“Wasn’t planning on it, sir.”
***
“Sirius Black is your what?!”
“My godfather, yeah,” Harry told Ron, struggling to stifle his laughter at Ron’s red face and Hermione’s slack jaw. “Can we go to dinner now?”
“Wait!” Ron exclaimed. “You just dropped that on us and now you want to pretend like it’s just another Tuesday? I don’t think so!”
“Ron,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s told us all he knows. Since when are you okay with being late to dinner, anyway?”
That seemed to make Ron pause. “Good point, let’s go.”
Harry and Hermione sent each other a look and promptly busted into laughter. Ron was so predictable that way. Never one to pass up an opportunity to eat, him.
The scrap of parchment in his pocket practically burnt a hole through his trousers on the way down to the Great Hall. It was charmed in the shape of a small origami bird, ready to be sent off with a subtle flick of Harry’s wand.
They sat and loaded their plates with food, chatting away happily to the fellow Gryffindors at their table – but Harry abruptly lost all interest in his conversation with Dean about muggle football when a certain pale-haired Slytherin entered the Great Hall.
Harry followed him with his eyes as he entered alone and found his usual spot at the Slytherin table with his friends – or minions, as Harry liked to call them – and when Malfoy glanced up, surely feeling eyes on him, that’s when Harry reached into his pocket and waved his wand, sending off his little origami note.
Their eye contact didn’t break until the bird landed in front of Malfoy and Harry nodded, wordlessly telling him to open it. His eyes narrowed on Harry, but when Harry just huffed and rolled his eyes, Malfoys lip twitched and he picked up the bird.
All the note said was: Owlery. 9pm.
Malfoy looked up and nodded. Harry smiled and went back to his dinner, not noticing the subtle flush of red that crawled its way up Malfoys neck.
After that, the night passed by quickly. Harry struggled to ignore the swarm of fluttering creatures in his stomach every time he dared to think of how easily Malfoy agreed to meet him. They weren’t friends, or at least – Harry didn’t think Malfoy considered him a friend. He definitely thought of Malfoy and stuck him into the ‘friend’ category, but he didn’t feel like the same sort of friend as Ron and Hermione. Not in the sense that they’re his best friends, but because he’d never felt... fuzzy? Maybe? Around them.
It was easy to sneak out of his room. Ron had passed out by 8pm, chocolate drunk and snoring. All Harry had to do was talk himself around Neville, who was still awake reading. “I’m just going to grab a cuppa” he had told him, and Neville accepted it without question.
Malfoy was already there when Harry finally made it to the Owlery. He didn’t startle when Harry removed the cloak this time, but he raised a brow at him.
“Why the Owlery?”
“I wanted to see Hedwig,” Harry told him easily.
“Why am I here, Potter?” Malfoy asked curiously.
“You said something to me. That time in the Great Hall. You said you’d want revenge.”
“...I did,” confirmed Malfoy, nervous all of a sudden.
“Sirius Black is my godfather. You knew?” Harry said it like it was a question, but it was clear that Malfoy could tell that he was not asking.
“I knew,” he agreed, watching the ground as he scuffed his feet across the floor.
“How?” Harry asked, just needing to know. Because why did Malfoy know when he didn’t?
The look in his eyes was apologetic as he met Harrys. “Sirius Black is my cousin.”
Harry went silent. How was he even supposed to reply to that? He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that Malfoy laughed sharply at, though it was with no humour.
“My mother’s cousin. My second cousin. I have never met him – him being in prison and all – but I assume I never would have anyway. My mother doesn’t talk much about her side of the family, but what I do know is that he never got along with the Blacks. He was the only Gryffindor, defiant and loyal down to the bone. Loyal, but never to his family. He hated everything they believed in. I recall my mother saying that the only family loyalty he showed was to his brother, Regulus, despite their strangled relationship.”
“Oh,” Harry whispered, not knowing what to say.
“When did you find out?” Malfoy asked carefully.
”The day you found me in the Astronomy tower…” Harry muttered, embarrassed.
“Oh… I’m sorry,” Malfoy told him sincerely.
“It’s not your fault,” Harry said, a sad smile on his face.
“Are you alright?”
“My godfather – who is your cousin – wants to kill me. So, no. I’m not alright,” Malfoy didn’t respond to that. He just grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him over to the stone bench in the corner of the room. They sat together in silence for a while, but Harry needed to know what changed between them. Why they’re suddenly friends? If that’s what they were? “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Malfoy sighed, fiddling with the silver rings on his long fingers. “I don’t know. I think I’m tired of trying to please my father.”
Harry looked at him, shocked. Sad. “Oh,” was all that he could say.
“You know,” Malfoy started. “I’ve never shown anyone my poetry before.”
“No one?” Harry asked incredulously. “Not even Parkinson?”
Malfoy laughed at that. “Especially not her. Pansy would never let me live that down.”
“Why did you show me?” Harry asked quietly, his thigh brushing against Malfoy’s only slightly. Malfoy moved closer, keeping their thighs pressed firmly together.
He smiled a tiny smile. It was sweet. “I don’t know.”
It was a lie. A clear, obvious lie. It made Harry smile, too. “Do you trust me, Malfoy?”
“I–” Malfoy looked at Harry, really looked. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’re a bleeding heart, Potter.”
“Harry,” he corrected.
“...You’re a bleeding heart, Harry. It’s hard not to trust you,” Malfoy said bashfully.
“I trust you, too, Malfoy,” Harry said, laughing when Malfoy hit him with an unimpressed look. “What?”
“If I’m to call you by your given name, I believe that you should do the same thing, no?”
“Okay,” Harry chuckled, and they then fell into another peaceful silence.
It was easy, being there with Malfoy. Draco, he reminded himself. The air was calm and his leg was warm from the close contact. The swarm of butterflies were back and Harry felt okay with it. Pleased by it.
It was getting harder and harder to deny the quite obviously massive crush he had formed on Draco Malfoy.
Gods, if first year Harry could see himself now...
The silence was broken when Draco spoke softly into the night. “I don’t want to be like my father anymore.”
He said it quietly, like if it was murmured any louder, it would hurt him. Like it was a secret. Harry felt a painful tug on his heartstrings.
“So be you. Be Draco,” Harry told him, simple as that.