Late night talkin'

Harry and the art of seducing your former childhood rival with snowballs

34 Hours into his 48 hour ‘all-nighter’, Harry starts to have some regrets.

Now, you're probably thinking: "Harry, why would you choose to stay awake for two days straight entirely unprompted? There must be some sort of ulterior motive here, right?" And honestly, you'd be right. Harry made this specific decision with just as much deliberation, delegation, and consideration, that he makes the majority of his choices. There were pros and cons, benefits and losses, and most importantly, influential contemplation put into the thought of this decision.

And what Harry means by all that is when Ron asked him: "Do you wanna pull two all-nighters back-to-back with me?" He said, "Fuck yeah, mate." And moved on.

Harry can admit that in the past, he's made some pretty stupid decisions. 

Well, not stupid decisions, but definitely not decisions he would make again, given the foresight. He's fucked around with a time turner, got himself thrown into a pit of spiders, wandered around a three-headed dog, played hooky with a werewolf, and done a whole lot of other things he's not going to list, because it makes him sound like an idiot.

In more recent years, Harry thinks he's mellowed out a good bit. He hasn't stolen any flying cars, or jumped in front of any death curses, or even almost drowned in the lake! Yup- Harry's been keeping it as cool as a cucumber, and honestly, someone should pat him on the back for it. After all, making good decisions relies on a lot of brainpower, and with Harry's limited supply, even the smallest wins should be regarded as crucial achievements. 

The only two people that take care to acknowledge them as such are Ron and Hermione. Having seen some of Harry's worst endeavors play out first-hand, they are the ones to most appreciate the differences in Harry's behavior. More often than not, the three of them set aside time to appreciate not only Harry's victories, but Ron and Hermione's as well. When Ron didn't bomb his history midterm (a shock to even Ron himself), Hermione and Harry treated him to butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks. When Hermione surpassed Malfoy as first in the year by thirty points, Harry and Ron attempted to make her one of her parent's classics, Spaghetti Bolognese (which had to be tossed once they baked it in a plastic tin), and ended up buying her Chinese food instead. For surviving past his 18th birthday, a feat Harry honestly didn't think he'd accomplish after his first year at Hogwarts, Hermione and Ron made him an enchanted picture frame, featuring Sirius, his parents, and baby Teddy. 

To say that he appreciates his best friends more than anything would be an understatement. Without Hermione, Harry never would've passed his potions exams, or figured out the definition of the elusive 'semi-formal' attire required at the end-of-year banquet. Without Ron, Harry wouldn't have been able to experience the rush of adrenaline that comes from unsupervised activities like skating on frozen lakes late at night, or doing backflips off the tallest part of the quidditch stands.

His friends are the only family Harry has, and he'd honestly be a lot sadder about that if he weren't so pleased with them. The 'golden trio' had done the impossible several times over, and had never once wavered. They survived wars, and villains, and too much tragedy for kids their age, and still came out of it all with wands blazing. Hermione, persistent, bright, and brilliant, and Ron, supportive, honest, and loyal. Harry wouldn't have been anything without them, and he's consistent in reiterating that to them. He might've been the one to make the final blow at the end of the day, but he never would've survived that long without his best mate and his favorite girl. 

Seeing as they've faced obstacles much greater than forty-eight hours of uninterrupted consciousness, Harry thought that he and his friends could accomplish the back-to-back all-nighters without much fault.

He was wrong.

Hermione, who'd been against the idea even from the beginning, fell asleep within the first four hours. She'd nodded off while Harry and Ron were seeing who could eat seven fruit-by-the-foots without their hands the fastest, and by the time they noticed, she couldn't be recovered. Harry and Ron, who'd pulled a good many stay-awakes in their earlier years persisted without much conflict, or at least Harry thought they did, until the second night.

Issue arose when Hermione announced an inter-house study evening for all eighth-year students called 'Battle Night', to "fight against procrastination and slay your way through final exams." Harry and Ron, hyped up on caffeine and adrenaline, thought it was a great idea to spend their free evening snacking on free refreshments, flipping through quidditch magazines, and decidedly not studying for their finals. It was only when they arrived to find the entire common room packed with students from every background, including Slytherins, that their lack of sleep became problematic. 

"Come onnnn, mate," Ron groans, smacking his head against the doorframe. "Nobody's gonna care that you've got your boxers on- nearly everyone is in pajamas!"

"I am not walking out in front of Malfoy in my knickers," Harry hisses, glaring at the fair-haired Slytherin leaning over a massive leather-bound tomb. "He'll say something about them for sure. 'Didn't feel like getting decent tonight, Potter?' Or, 'Wow, Potter, couldn't you have just walked out in a pair of silken panties?' Or, 'Not enough money for pants in your parents' trust, Potter?"

Ron rolls his eyes so massively, his head moves with them.

"He's not going to say any of those things, Harry."

"And if he does!? What then, Ron!"

"Then you just won't listen! You'll walk away! You'll ignore his comments like you should!"

"I don't want to ignore him! I'm trying to fuck him! I just don't want him to take the piss out of me."

"Fuck me," Ron says, throwing his hands up. "Go put some bloody pants on then!"

"Don't ask me to fuck you if you don't want me to take you up on it," Harry snarls. "And I don't want to put on pants! I have my boxers!"

"You're impossible."

"You're inconsiderate."

"You're being quite loud," Hermione says, suddenly appearing beside Ron in the doorway. Her dark curls are pulled loosely atop her head, with a few loose spirals falling out just along her hairline. Hermione is, as is everyone, wearing joggers and one of Ron's old sweaters. Pajamas. "What's the issue with Harry wearing boxers?"

"He doesn't want Malfoy to see his boxers," Ron quickly explains, earning a jaw-drop from Harry. Ron side-eyes him, then shrugs. "She's my girlfriend. I'm not gonna lie."

"I'm your best mate, and you just revealed my deepest darkest secret!"

"That you fancy lads? Oh- come off it Harry, it's the twenty-first century."

"Fuck that, you bugger! I'm talking about me fancying Malfoy!"

"That's not a secret. Half of Hogwarts knows that- just you didn't."

"I know!" Harry gestures wildly to Hermione. "But it was supposed to be a dramatic reveal to Hermione, and you've just made a cock-up of it!"

"This is quite a dramatic reveal actually," Hermione jumps in matter-of-factly. "And, to be honest, love, I've known for quite a bit."

Harry gasps emphatically, clutching at his chest. He's not quite sure if it's the lack of sleep that's depraving him, or if his crush on Malfoy was really that obvious.

"You knew!" He points. "And you didn't tell me either!?"

Hermione frowns.

"You wanted me to tell you that you fancied Malfoy?"

"That's what I said," Ron chimes. "Seems like an odd request."

"You're an odd request!"

"Harry, Ron," Hermione sighs, dragging a hand down her face. "Are you acting like hooligans because you're actually upset, or because you didn't sleep after I told you it was a bad idea?"

The silence between the three of them is deafening.

"Right," Hermione nods, wagging a finger at the two of them. "And I don't suppose there's any convincing you to go rest now, is there?"

"We're almost at the forty-eight hour mark, love," Ron shrugs. "It would be a waste to stop now."

"Agreed," Harry nods. "It's been a good lot of work, actually."

"We're quite persistent to put up with it."

"We really are, aren't we?"

"Persistent, yes, well-equipped, most definitely not," Hermione shakes her head, looking back out into the common room. "How about the two of you go have some hot chocolate in the corner and settle for a bit?"

"She's isolating us," Ron says sadly, looking over at Harry. 

"Banishing us to the shadows," Harry replies darkly.

"Quite," Hermione claps her hands together, flashing each of them a pearly smile. "But, I am trusting the two of you not to make a scene- with each other, or with anyone else. If you prove you can do that for-" She looks down at her watch "-an hour, I'll let you come out of the corner. Is that manageable?"

"Seems alright," Harry shrugs. 

"Seconded," Ron nods. 

"Cheers," Hermione breathes, bouncing up on her toes to peck Harry on the cheek and then Ron on the lips. "I've got to go help Pansy with some transfiguration notes, she's trading me for Astronomy. I'll see you boys in a bit."

Before Harry and Ron can even voice their goodbyes, she's spun back to face the party, and plunged back into the throng of students. Ron shakes his head, his shoulders deflating slightly at the same time Harry drags his hands down his face. 

"This was a horrible idea," Ron mutters, glaring out into what is most definitely going to be a nightmare of interactions. 

"Agreed," Harry murmurs, gently nudging Ron forward. The two of them wander out into the event, doing their best to avoid every single person who glances their way. It doesn't take Harry long to find the corner Hermione so clearly pointed out to them, and he and Ron plop down with their snacks to people-watch in their allocated free time.

Honestly, for a party put together the day-of, Hermione's study night seems to be a smashing success. While the majority of students present are the ones Harry would normally see in the library during finals anyways, there are also kids like he and Ron, just there to hang out for a bit. The fire is roaring, people are quietly laughing, and jazz music is cracking through a speaker tucked next to the couch. It’s a beautiful night, and Harry’s going to make sure he tells Hermione so.

Or, it would be a beautiful night if Theo Not wasn’t draping his arm all over Malfoy’s shoulders, looking all-too-desperate as he does it, in Harry’s opinion.

He glares down the two boys, accompanied by Blaise and Astoria, as they chat about on the couch. After a particularly loud laugh from Draco after something Theo said, Harry makes it a point to voice his frustrations.

”Ugh,” He snarls, stabbing at his baby-sized serving of cheese and crackers. “It’s supposed to be a study night, yeah? Nott’s distracting me with his loud-ass terrible jokes.”

”Hmph?” Ron asks from around a mouthful of cheese, still struggling to kick those tendencies he earned from Scabbers 3rd year. “Whassit with Nott?”

”He’s too loud! I can’t focus!”

“On what?” Ron asks curiously. “Your cocoa? We’re not even studying.”

”Yeah! Because Nott’s bloody hollering his life story.”

”Oh boy,” Ron sighs, carefully setting down his snack plate. “Is this because Malfoy didn’t say anything about your boxers? I know you wanted him to.”

”I don’t care about the boxers,” Harry hisses, tugging on the hem of his best pair of burgundy-plaid shorts. “This isn’t about Malfoy at all, actually.”

”Riiiiight, it’s about that other Slytherin you fancy.”

”I certainly don’t fancy him right now,” Harry grumbles, kicking his feet out in front of him. He stares holes into the side of Malfoy’s head, taking in the sharp slant of his jawline, and his perfectly-sculpted hair, and his easy smile. “With his stupid cheekbones and stupid eyes and stupid face.”

”That’s a lot of stupid for one man.”

”Malfoy’s superhuman,” Harry says matter-of-factly, glancing to Ron just as Theo leans to whisper something in Draco’s ear. Malfoy’s gaze flicks to their corner for half a second before he howls in laughter, covering his face with his hands. Theo is giggling, making eyebrows at Blaise and Astoria until they look over too.

”Mate,” Ron says slowly, tapping Harry on the elbow. “Am I buggin? Or are they looking at us?”

“They’re making fun of us,” Harry whispers, his heart dropping into the depths of his stomach. “They’re laughing.”

”Wait a second,” Ron shakes his head, “Are you sure that’s what they’re…” He trails off when Astoria literally points directly in their faces, laughing so hard her cheeks turn scarlet. “Those fuckers.”

Now, Harry and Ron have made some stupid decisions in the past, but at that very second, it seemed like they were about to make the smartest decision of their lives. Was it made on very little sleep? Yes. Was it made without much planning? Yes. Was it made without any real reason behind it? You betcha.

The boys are in front of the Slytherins in an instant, glaring them down with a fury that could only come from sleep deprivation, and years of intense bullying.

”Something funny, Nott?” Harry spits, gritting his teeth at Theo. He doesn’t miss the way Malfoy glances at him almost alarmedly, like he’s worried about something. If anything, it only makes him more pissed off.

”Not really anything that’s your business, Potter.” Theo shrugs, a smile still on his shit-eating face. 

“Really?” Ron steps in, ready to back Harry to war and back again. “Because it’s our business if you’re joking around at our expense, Nott.”

”Oh butt-out, Weasley,” Blaise snorts, earning a head-whip from Malfoy. “If we wanted to listen to your pity party, we would’ve come listen to your father talk utility bills.”

”You better back the fuck off, Zabini,” Harry glares. “At least Ron’s father didn’t run off in the war- oh wait- that wasn’t your father, was it? He left way before that. Was the pisshead your mother’s eighth husband, or ninth?”

Harry and Ron don’t notice Astoria leave, and they certainly don’t notice her rush over to the area where Hermione and Pansy are discussing star signs.

”Bold of you to say, Potter,” Theo stands, getting much too close to Harry’s face. “Where were your parents during the last battle? Chumming it up with Dumbledore in your imaginary train station?”

“And they still did more than you,” Ron looms, shoving Theo away from Harry. “Where were YOU Nott? Locked away in the basement? Wiping your snot-nose while the rest of us were fighting for our lives?”

”Thats enough,” Draco stands, pushing Theo and Blaise away from Harry and Ron before the physicality can escalate. “This isn’t what we’re supposed to be doing. This is a night about coming together as a community.”

”Some community this is,” Theo snorts, throwing his hands above his head. “They’re still the bitch-headed Gryffindors they always were! Why would we want to be around them??”

”Bitch-headed?” Harry barks a laugh, glowering closer to Malfoy. “You’re the ones joking around like old times, Nott. Did you and Malfoy get sick of the ‘good Merlin’s angel’ act? Finally decide to go back to who you really are?”

”What did you say?” Malfoy snaps to attention, his voice going from understanding to cold. 

“You heard me,” Harry pushes, though his voice is losing steam. Malfoy’s eyes are pleading, and he doesn’t know why, but he’s starting to feel sick inside. “You’re just the same as you used to be. A rude, self-entitled brat that picks on others to make himself feel good.”

”Is that what you really think?” Malfoy asks, his voice measured and surprisingly quiet. It’s Hermione-like, in a way, which might be why it catches Harry off-guard. “Or are you saying that because you’re upset?”

”Don’t psycho-analyze him!” Ron wails, pointing at Malfoy like he tried to kill them both. “That’s Hermione’s job!”

”He’ll do whatever psycho shit he wants!” Theo humphs, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s right! He’s always right!”

”Doesn’t matter!” Ron defends, his voice rising while Harry’s head begins to spin. “That’s his job to figure that out! He doesn’t need Malfoy to do it for him!”

”I really think he does! He’s as thick as it gets when it comes to Draco!”

”Hey! Only I get to call him thick in the head!”

The rising voices fade into oblivion as Harry stumbles a step back, his eyes never leaving Draco’s face. There’s something measured, and saddened, and dissapointed in Malfoy’s eyes, and it makes Harry feel like he has to throw up. He doesn’t know why, but he wishes Malfoy were just angry with him instead- at least he’d know how to handle that.

He doesn’t know how to measure this…crushed-hope type of despair.

”I don’t…” He starts to say, but finds his mouth dry and voice too quiet to be heard over Theo, Ron, and Blaise. He definitely feels like a mistake was made, but he’s not quite sure who took that mistake from a joke to an open wound from their past.

”…fancying isn’t an excuse!”

”Find a better one for your mate, then!” 

"Boys!" The chaos stops the moment Hermione Granger opens her mouth, and Harry's glad it does, because if it didn't, he and Ron could've done some serious damage to Theo's ego. "Are you all fucking serious? This is supposed to be a night about coming together, not squabbling about arguments that happened during first year! It's bloody ridiculous that you lot can't just attempt to reconcile. You're acting like children."

Ron and Harry scramble to their feet, standing stock-still, knowing better than to talk back while Hermione caught you doing something you weren't supposed to. Harry doesn’t even remember getting on the ground with Ron, but he must’ve. If Harry were to reckon, he'd say the majority of Gryffindor, hell- the majority of Hogwarts knew not to test Hermione Granger when you'd done something stupid. The Slytherins, however, had not had the opportunity to experience Hermione's wrath on a small scale, which was much worse than facing her on the battlefield in Harry's opinion. 

So, Harry, Ron, and the rest of the non-Slytherin participants watched in horror as Blaise (also on the ground?) rose to his knees, glaring at Hermione as she paced in front of the fireplace, attempting to collect her bearings. She was pinching her nose bridge, which was never a good sign, but on top of that- she also had her eyes closed. Whatever havoc she was brewing up in her mind, it would be a punishment to remember.

Harry tries to communicate this to Malfoy as Blaise rises to his feet, obviously having a bone to pick with Hermione. He jerks his head to the side until he catches Malfoy's attention, which is met with an exasperatedly-mouthed "what?"

"Blaise!" Harry mouths, moving a hand across his neck in a cut-throat motion. "Stop him!"

"What?" Malfoy looks between Harry and Blaise, obviously confused. Ron, standing beside Harry, notices the attempt to rein him in and joins Harry in frantically motioning at Malfoy, and now watching them too, Pansy. 

"Stop him!"

"Don't let him do it!"

By the time their point gets across, it’s too late. Blaise has stepped directly in front of Hermione's pacing path, and is now facing her with his hands on his hips. Ron's jaw drops wide open as Hermione slows to a stop, her gaze visibly narrowing as she looks up man looming over her. Harry, who's never been too fond of Blaise himself, begins muttering a prayer to Merlin for his safety, or, that Hermione wont rough him up too bad. 

Upon seeing Hermione's death stare, Blaise's shoulders deflate, his confidence draining. Even so, there’s no turning back now. Hermione already spotted him, and now, she was waiting- arms crossed over her chest and foot tapping against the carpet.

"The foot tap!" Harry murmurs to Ron. "We haven't seen that one since you stole Crookshanks and stuffed him into a lunch sack!"

"The cat got out of the bag," Ron mutters back, wincing slightly at the traumatic memory. "I was grounded for weeks."

"She wouldn't let us play Just Dance."

"Barbaric times. I nearly forgot the motions to 'What makes you beautiful'."

"Great Merlin."

"Blaise," Hermione finally speaks, her voice colder than ice and sharper than the sword of Godric Gryffindor. "Did you have something to say?"

Blaise’s mouth opens, then shuts. When he does speak, his voice shakes in the mere presence of one-hit Granger.

”I- I don’t think so.”

”I thought so,” She squints. “How about you take a seat, and I get to finish talking?”

”Yeah,” Blaise warbles, sinking to his knees directly where he’s standing.

Hermione spins away from him, consciously glaring at her best friends, the Slytherins, and the majority of the idiots that had egged them on. Harry prays for their survival, his hand shooting sideways to whack Ron’s. Their silent sentiments pass between them.

This is it.

The end?

The end.

“It has come to my attention that although we as a class have physically come together to occupy the same space, our past identities are still driving stakes between inter-house relationships,”

Hermione begins, crossing in front of Malfoy, Pansy, and Theo. 

“This is a confusing time for the majority of students attending 8th year,” Hermione glances to Harry. “But as Head Girl of house-relations, I will not tolerate open animosity between students,”

“Since when is she head girl of house relations?” Harry whispers to Ron.

”Fuck if I know, mate. I can barely keep track of her class schedule. Who knows how many clubs she’s in?”

”Shes in clubs without us?”

”Shes not as socially dependent as us.”

”Oh, right.”

”Since a few of our most influential house members have decided to act like children in front of the majority, I’ve decided to come up with a solution befitting a disagreement between children.”

Harry swallows. He can practically hear Ron in his ear, translating the very obvious. If you’re going to act like children, you’re going to fix this like children.

"But you all need'nt worry," Hermione smiles, sending shivers down Harry's spine. "I've come up with a solution to settle this dispute, once and for all."

Harry sucks in a breath, mind running a mile a minute as he debates what war-type competition Hermione could've cooked up for them. A potion-making contest? No- that wouldn't be fair, because Harry sucks at potions. Wizard chess? He'd never seen Pansy play- so she probably didn't know the rules. Twister? Both humiliating and awkward for all parties involved, so a plausible candidate.

Ron tenses beside him as Hermione's gaze swivels their way, her lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk. This is bad. Really, really bad. Like, Fluffy chasing them into a bathroom with a massive troll inside, bad.

"Ronald," She says, voice warm and silky smooth. "Would you go look out the window and tell us what you see?"

Ron swallows thickly, unsure if he should leave the safety of Harry's side to do what his pissed-off girlfriend is telling him to. Harry blinks between them, then to Malfoy, who looks absolutely horrified of the situation unfolding in front of him. Harry sympathizes. If this was the first time he'd been a witness to Hermione's wrath, he probably would've been petrified.

"'Mione, love," Ron clears his throat. "It's a bit dark out, seeing as it's night and all, and I don't think-"

"Just go look out the goddamn window Ron."

"Yes ma'am," Ron squeaks before bolting to the nearest window, pressing his face to the glass in an attempt to see anything in the pitch-black night. Harry clenches and unclenches his fists, unsure of what Hermione could possibly be getting at. Was this a trick? Was she going to push them all out the window and lock them onto the roof? Make them huddle together for warmth in the early-December chill until they'd gotten their acts together?

"Oh blimey," Ron breathes, his breath fogging the class before he makes a full turn back to his audience. "It's snowing out."

"Precisely," Hermione says, her small smirk stretching into a grin that would make even Dumbledore shrivel in fear. "If everyone could grab their coats and meet me down in the Courtyard in-" She looks down at her watch, a birthday gift from Ginny. "Five minutes, that would be splendid."

Harry raises his hand, unsure if he should wait for her to call on him, and instead just choosing to start speaking.

"Hermione, with all due respect, it's bloody freezing out. Even with our coats, it'll be-"

"Just go put your goddamn coat on, Harry."

"Yes ma'am."

"Great!" Hermione claps her hands together, looking out into the crowd of slightly frightened, slightly-awed faces. "Oh- It'll probably be a good idea to bring mittens too. And scarves. Hats, if you have them. We're going to be out there awhile."

She then spins on her heel, grabs the snow-gear already waiting for her by the door, and disappears from the common room. As soon as her last curl passes through the doorway, every attendee springs into action, running about the common room in an attempt to gather their things in the short amount of time Hermione allocated to them. Harry and Ron share a look, and their work is cut in half.

”I’ll get coats.”

”I’m on hats and gloves.”

Ron bolts up the nearest staircase, and Harry moves to follow, but pauses when Draco once again catches his eye. The two of them stare at each other for a moment too long, locked in a battle of wills. They can't be the first one to look away, even if their gaze met by coincidence. It's the principle of the thing, not anything to do with the warmth in Harry's chest and the quickening of his pulse. 

There's nobody else in the room, and for the first time ever, the thought of that terrifies Harry. Not because he's worried about what Draco could do to him, but because he's worried he's going to do something he shouldn't; that he's going to step over the invisible line they've drawn in the sand, and disrupt what has been a constant battle for as long as they've known each other.

He's not ready to cross it, not just yet, but Harry can tread the line just fine. 

"Sorry," He says, his mouth uncharacteristically dry. "About what I said. You're not...you're not who you used to be. I’m sorry."

Draco says nothing, as if he doesn’t take Harry’s apology to heart. Stomach aching, Harry surges forward, his hands shaking a bit.

”Really,” He breathes. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t- I don’t mean any of that stuff. You’re different now, and I just- I just forget that, sometimes.” 

"I'm not," Draco swallows, looking down at his feet. He broke contact first, but Harry doesn't feel like gloating. "But I forget too."

"You do?"

"Yeah," Draco smiles to himself, his head lifting. "I forget that I don't have to be on edge all the time, or force myself to be someone I’m not… or pretend to hate you anymore."

Harry stills, the beginnings of a smile freezing on his lips. Did he really just say that? Did Draco Malfoy, humungous arsehole and owner of the most entrancing eyes Harry's ever seen say that he doesn't hate him anymore? That he's been pretending?

His doubt overpowers his measly shred of hope almost instantly.

"You don't really mean that."

”I don’t say things I don’t mean, Potter,” Malfoy tilts his chin up, looking down at Harry in a way that’s both extremely familiar, and yet new all the same. “It’s a new thing I’m trying- being honest, and all that.”

Harry catches himself smiling involuntarily, and swallows it before Draco can think about why. He doesn’t want him getting any right ideas, and knowing how perceptive Malfoy is, that’s a lot to ask.

”And quite honestly- you don’t hate me anymore?”

”Don’t get me wrong- you’re still a massive prick-“ Harry snorts in disbelief, tilting his head to the ceiling. “-but I don’t hate you. I despise your stupidity, and your face, and your prized Weasleys, but not… you.”

“You just described almost everything about me.”

”I didn’t mention Granger. Or your new hairdo.”

When Harry smiled this time, it’s too big to hide. He tilts his head, blinking dreamily in a giddy sort of way. He feels like he did when he used to flirt with Ginny in the rarely-empty halls of the Burrow. A teasing sort of exchange, but one that was supercharged with emotions that couldn’t be shared, and yet both parties were aware of.

“You fancy my hair, Malfoy? I thought it was a bit messy for your tastes.”

”Shrink your ego before it gets as big as your head, Potter,” Malfoy sneers, crossing his arms over his chest. “And since when are you an expert on my tastes?”

”Just assumed they were the opposite of mine,” Harry shrugs, swinging his arms behind his back. “I quite prefer your hair to mine, in fact.”

Harry’s not quite sure if he’s more surprised by himself, or by the look on Malfoy’s face. The poor lad looks absolutely floored, and Harry, if he weren’t so embarrassed, would feel extremely proud of that.

”You do not,” Malfoy hisses. “You’re just saying that because I said I liked yours.”

“Not true,” Harry wags a finger. “You must’ve forgotten, but-“ He flashes the lettered scar on the back of his hand. “I must not tell lies.”

And Harry’s sure he must be dreaming, because quite possibly for the first time ever- Malfoy laughs. Laughs at something he, Harry, said. And not in a mocking, hateful, haughty way either. A genuinely amused, genuinely pleased type of way.

And Harry would quite like to hear that laugh again. Immediately. At a much closer range. In his ear, would be nice.

”You’re so full of shit.”

”Because I like your fancy hair and flawless skin!?” Harry throws up his hands flabbergasted. “Merlin, Malfoy, learn to take a compliment.”

Malfoy’s smile freezes.

”My what?”

”What?”

”Did you say I have flawless skin?”

”What?”

”What?”

”What?” Ron walks in already wearing his coat with Harry’s jacket draped over his arm. He curiously looks between a shell-shocked Harry, and absolutely still Draco, and flaps his arms around wildly. “Mate! Where are our gloves n’ shite?”

”Fuck! Sorry!” Harry flusters, breaking out of his trance and sprinting toward where he and Ron had most recently stashed their things. By the time he returns- gloves, stocking hats, and scarves in tow- Malfoy is long gone.

“Where’d he go?” Harry asks, trying not to sound dissapointed.

”Dunno- to get his things probably,” Ron shrugs, trading Harry’s coat for the rest of his things. “What were you two talking about?”

”His perfect hair and flawless skin,” Harry says miserably, tugging the zipper up his jacket. 

“You were cheating on me!” Ron gasps, pointing an accusatory finger at Harry. “You complimented another man! And it was MALFOY for Merlin’s sake!”

”Push me out the window,” Harry pleads, folding his mittened hands together. “I’d rather die than face him again alone.”

”Don’t you quite fancy him?”

“Quite. I’d like to kiss him on the mouth, actually.”

”Harry, mate, I love you- but I will not watch you bone Malfoy. Not for a million galleons.”

“Jokes on you, I know some diehard Potter fans who would,” Harry sneers, lightly punching Ron in the arm, his spirits already rising. “You’re missing out.”

”I assure you, I am not.”

”C’mon, Ron, it’s not like it’ll be the first time you’ve seen my-“

”Malfoy!” Ron cheers, startling a freshly-dressed-for-snow Draco walking out of the tunnels. “We waited for you.”

“Oh- thank you Potter…and Ronald,” Malfoy squints, awkwardly looking between Harry and Ron. When neither of them move toward the door, Draco shuffles forward. “Guess I’ll lead, then.”

”Right,” Ron nods, wiggling his eyebrows and very obviously winking at Harry, quite pleased with himself. It’s only after Harry flashes him the finger that he looks confused, pointing to the hat still in Harry’s hands. “You’re not putting your stocking on?”

”…No,” Harry says, moving to follow Draco, who’s already a few dozen paces ahead. “Don’t want to mess up my hair.”

”Your hair?” Ron wrinkles his nose, speeding up to follow. “Mate, your hair is always a mess.”

By the time Harry, Draco, and Ron make it down to the courtyard, Hermione has split the participants into two, mostly equal lines. The snowdrifts between them are massive, and glowing a luminous white under the light of the moon. The sky, which was once pitch black, has now been scattered with candles in a range of colors, the majority of them being red, green, blue, and yellow. Most likely representing the four houses. 

Standing awkwardly on the edge of the function, Harry and Draco wait beside each other while Ron jogs over to Hermione, attempting to persuade her to tell him what exactly is going on. Harry rocks back and forth on his heels, hands shoved deep into his pockets, while he makes a very conscious effort not to look over at Malfoy. 

It’s been quite the whirlwind of a night, and Harry’s not sure if he can manage the emotions that are sure to flood in once he sees Malfoy’s cold-kissed cheeks and snowflake-dappled eyelashes.

It’s not long before Ron returns to the sidelines, his cheeks pink from the cold, or from Hermione’s smirk. He nods his head toward the left, where the majority of Draco’s friends are standing, and clears his throat.

”’Mione says you’re over there, Malfoy. Me and Harry are over there,” He points over his shoulder to the right. “Sorry, man.”

”Oh…right,” Draco nods, glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d say Malfoy sounds dissatisfied with the knowledge that they’re not on the same team, but he must just be hearing things. Malfoy would prefer to be with his friends over Harry, obviously.

Which is why Harry tries not to make it too obvious that he’s absolutely bummed by the fact that he and Malfoy are walking in opposite directions for what feels like the thousandth time.

Once Ron and Harry and Draco are in their respective lines, Hermione raises her hands, effectively quieting the low murmur of excited voices.

“The rules of the game are simple,” Hermione calls, walking in front of the two identical rows like a general in command. “Each team will start with one-hundred units of ammunition, after that, it’s your own job to make your own. No magic use will be allowed to make, distribute, or use yours ammunition. If you make contact with the opposite team’s weaponry, you’re out of the game, and must lay down on impact. The team with the most players at the end of the game wins.”

”Hermione!” Pansy calls, raising her hand from a position somewhere beside Ron. “What’s the ammo? There’s nothing here!”

With a whirl of her wand, snowballs appear in a long pile in front of each team, crowding so high it’s almost difficult to see one another. Harry’s head whips toward Ron so fast he’s sure it’s going to fall off.

”It’s a-“

”-Snowball fight.” Ron finishes, his smile as wide as the moon shining above them. 

The majority of both teams start excitedly chatting, pulling snowballs into their palms and readying their attacks. Hermione raises her hands above her head turning last-minute to join the enemy team opposite Harry and Ron.

”No mortal injuries!” She calls, pulling snowballs into her own gloves and tossing more to Malfoy, who looks like he’s about to explode. “And may the game….BEGIN!!”

Immediately, Harry is throwing snowballs as fast as his arms will allow, laughing furiously as he manages to land his first victim- Cho Chang- directly in the gut. She dramatically spins in a circle, clutching at her stomach before falling face-flat to the floor. It’s a glorious display, and Harry makes note to ask her about her acting skills once the game is over. 

Ron is battling furiously beside him, chucking the snowballs Pansy is handing him as if he’s been made to do nothing else. Once their nearby stock gets low, Harry drops to his knees in the snow, crawling under projectiles to start shaping balls beside Pansy’s legs.

”PARKINSON!” He yells over the violent commotion, accidentally startling her but getting her attention nonetheless. “Here!!”

Pansy takes the half dozen snowballs Harry has managed to make and passes them to Ron, laughing wildly when one of the balls hits Blaise in the face. She then drops to her knees beside Harry, shoving loose snow in front of the two of them to act as a makeshift barrier. 

“EASY GOES IT, POTTER?”

“PRACTICALLY!” He shouts back, shoving another bundle of projectiles into her arms. “AIM FOR MALFOY’S HAIR, WOULDJA?”

”AYE!”

She nods, rolling with the snowballs clutched to her chest like precious cargo. She and Ron split the pile and start throwing to their hearts content, easily dodging every missile coming their way.

”READY!” Ron shouts, pulling his arm back in perfect synchronicity with Pansy.

”AIM!” She steadies her palm around the snow.

”FIRE!” They scream, throwing a battalion of snow that takes out a good four of five of the students across enemy lines.

Harry has to leave his sanctuary when a falling Hufflepuff crushes it to bits, effectively ruining all of their ammo. Harry mourns his mate, muttering “too soon” before bolting to the other end of the battlefield, where he spotted a blur of curly brown hair.

Hermione’s hair has come loose, and is now a beautiful mass of snow-covered ringlets, bouncing gracefully in time with each of her wide bounds and powerful jumps. Beside her, looking just- if not more- beautiful, is Draco Malfoy.

Harry and Draco make eye contact across the gap, and neither can help the massive smiles that burst onto their faces. It’s a rivalry as old as time itself, and Harry honestly wouldn’t mind if it ended covered in packed snow and lit by colorful floating candles.

”Scared, Potter?” Malfoy yells, raising a snowball in each hand above his head.

”You wish!” Harry yells back, raising his own snowballs. If he weren’t so fixated on Malfoy, he probably would’ve noticed the effort organized by Hermione and Theo on the side, including a wall of snowballs headed straight for his head. Just before the packed ice lands, Harry sees Draco wink, and duck behind a nearby snowdrift.

“HARRY!” Ron claps his hands over Harry’s cheeks, effectively swiveling him away from an onslaught of snowballs, and Draco’s entrancing gaze. “You gotta lock in, mate!”

”Oh, MERLIN,” Harry wails, slapping his hands on top of Ron’s. “Did you see that!? Did you see the way he looked at me??”

”Who??”

“Malfoy! He was looking at me like-“

”Like he wants to murder you with ice balls?! This is serious, Harry! It’s not some kiddie game!”

”I’m losing my mind,” Harry says, shaking his head in disbelief. “IM LOSING THE PLOT, RON!”

”KEEP IT TOGETHER.”

”I- MY MIND IS SCATTERED. I CANT FOCUS!”

”REMEMBER WHO THE ENEMY IS, HARRY!”

”I CAN’T- HE’S TOO BLOODY FIT!”

And suddenly, as if the sky itself was hurling snow at their heads, a clusterfuck of what must be a million snowballs comes down on their faces. 

Harry and Ron are buried under a pile of snow as the rival team cheers at their spectacular team effort, with Hermione and Draco leading the charge.

Through the icy tundra, Harry and Ron watch as the other pair tumbles over one another in laughter, clutching their sides as they attempt to stay upright, and avoid the snowballs of revenge Harry’s team is throwing back.

”Well played,” Harry mutters. “They got us distracted.”

”Certainly,” Ron huffs. “They’re both too smart for their own goods. It was guaranteed our asses would be handed to us.”

”Good effort, though.”

Ron sighs, his eyelashes fluttering.

”Always an honor to serve with you, mate.”

”Right back at you.”

Harry lies on his back, staring up at a sky full of dancing candles, and can’t help but smile. Ron is lying beside him, their heavy breaths floating up between flying snowballs and falling flurries. Boisterous laughter rings through the air, and the crunch of snow echoes in his ears.

From there on the ground, everything feels a bit more far away, like he and Ron have been transported to a mirror dimension, where they’re now watching the snowball fight through a thick sheen of glass. It’s their personal snow globe, just for the two of them to enjoy.

One thing Harry loves about Ron is how quickly he can read Harry’s mood. Never in his entire life has he met another person (outside of Hermione), that can just read his mind without trying, and know what Harry needs. Sometimes, or, more like most of the time- the two of them are loud. They’re jumping off balconies, or shouting at quidditch matches, or sprinting through the halls to get away from Filch. Weasley and Potter, bold and boisterous, and always in trouble.

But there are also times when the world is so loud, the two of them get quiet. They sit beside one another and flip through quidditch magazines, never sharing a thought louder than the occasional ‘hum’ of interest. Independent, but always together. 

Sometimes they sit beside the fireplace in the common room, listening to Hermione read a thick-bound volume aloud until they fall asleep on the carpet. Other times, Harry is doing the reading, quietly running through chapters while Ron puts little braids in Hermione’s hair.

Harry might not believe in soulmates, but he believes in Ron, and that’s almost the exact same thing. They’re two sides of a coin, and two halves of the same soul. They’re brothers, not by chance, but by choice.

That day on the train, Ron and Harry chose each other. They chose to bicker, and brawl, and pick at each other- but they also chose to light up when the other walked into a room. They chose to love, and be loved.

There’s something special about finding your mirror image in someone else that Harry just can’t put into words. It’s like coming home to your bed after a long day, or visiting with someone you haven’t seen in a while.

No matter the distance that divides you, you always find your way home. And for Harry, home is, has been, and always will be Ron Weasley. They were boys together. They’re from the same star.

He’s safe. He’s beautiful. He’s Harry’s best friend.

Harry might not believe in soulmates, but he believes that somewhere in the universe, someone fought for them to meet. To find one another. Some things are too strange to be chance, and too destined to be coincidences.

So even though Harry and Ron lost the snowball fight, and their sleep, and their childhoods- they found each other. They found permeating peace.

”Sorry we lost,” Ron eventually says, turning to look at Harry. Snow is falling on their faces, and Ron’s skin is scattered with a dozen snowflakes, slowly melting on contact.

”It’s ok, mate,” Harry shrugs, turning to look at him too. “We didn’t really lose.”

”Who knew ‘Mione had such a good arm?”

”I’ll have bruises tomorrow for sure. Better keep an eye on her man, she’s dangerous.”

”That’s why I love her. She could kill me at any minute. Adds more thrill to our romantic life.”

”Oh Merlin,” Harry gags. “Do NOT talk to me about yours and Hermione’s sex life. I’d rather die and be revived again.”

Ron chuckles, his gaze shifting back to the sky.

”I’d rather we just exist here for a while, yeah?”

”How do you do that?” Harry asks.

”Do what?”

”Say exactly what I’m thinking,” Harry replies, looking up at the stars through flickering candlelight. “It’s a bit creepy.”

”You’re just easy to read.”

”Oh- so now I’m easy? Suck a dick, Ron.”

”Right back at you. Want me to call Malfoy over? I’m sure he’d leap at the chance.”

”Shut up.”

Ron lifts his head from the snowbank, a devilish grin on his lips. Harry’s moving before the word even leaves his lips.

”MALFOUHG,” Ron mumbles around a mouthful of snow, a surprised look on his face that makes Harry burst out laughing.

“Eat shit,” Harry howls, drawing the attention of the enemy team as Ron rises from the depths of snow like a man revived, a devious look in his eyes.

”Fuck you!”

The snowdrift lands on Harry’s head, and he immediately emerges from it with his mittens blazing. For what seems like the next hour, Harry and Ron spend their time trying to suffocate the other in the snow in the way that only best friends do. Eventually, Hermione has to put the game on hold for just long enough to separate them, their mouths full of cold water and eyelashes coated in snowflakes.

They never stop laughing, because it’s hilarious to almost drown in snow, and even more hilarious to almost drown your best friend. It’s not funny to Hermione, who’s sure they’re going to get hypothermia, but it’s certainly funny to the boys.

And it’s funny, because even through war, and death and destruction, Harry and Ron have never stopped laughing so hard their stomachs hurt.

And with luck, they never will.