The Harry Potter Musical
Harry was the last in his dorm to wake up, meaning he had the room to himself and could take his time to find what he needed to get dressed. Not that it was hard, Malfoy kept all his clothes in his closet, arranged in a neat row of perfectly ironed robes to one side and pressed trousers on the other.
Dressed in one of the many quality robes and a plain, white -but probably ridiculously expensive - shirt, he turned the door handle and braced himself for another day as a Slytherin.
The common room was filled with laughter from people sitting in small groups bent over copies of the Prophet. Parkinson made a delighted call when she noticed him. “Draco, come have a look at this, it’s going to make your day.”
He had no choice but to reluctantly cross the room and sink down next to her in the sofa. To his horror she draped an arm around his waist and leaned close, putting her copy of the paper in his lap. His own face was at the cover, which wasn’t unusual per se but this was a picture of him he didn’t recall being taken. In the Three Broomsticks, where he hadn’t set foot in ages.
“Wait until you read the article” Parkinson giggled. “It’s hilarious.”
With an ill-boding feeling, he turned the page and began to read, trying very hard not to let out a sound but his rage must have reflected on his face because Parkinson pouted her lips. “Oh, darling, you’re upset. Is it about the guy? I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Harry didn’t bother to make sense of her words as he stalked out the room, determined to find Draco Malfoy and kill him.
*****
Draco still felt full from last evening’s feast when he woke up. He’d dreamt he was eating one of Aberforth’s goats which had been made out of treacle fudge. Then the goat had turned into Jaques, wanting to eat him. Weird as it had been, it beat his usual nightmares about being tortured by the dark lord.
As he swung his legs over the bedside and pulled at his bed curtains, he found Weasley staring at him with a dumbfounded expression. His first thought was that the charm had worn off and his hands went up to his hair, but it felt exactly like Potter’s unkept mane. He traced his cheekbone and found the stubble that had been annoying him yesterday.
“Eum” Weasley said, looking nervous.
“What?” Draco noticed Weasley was holding a copy of the Prophet, taking care to keep it out of his sight. “Did something bad happen?” he asked, imagining resurrected dark lords and wars starting over, fearing there was more to this weird thing that had happened to him and Potter.
“Well, maybe not bad” Weasley said vaguely. “But not exactly good either.”
Draco lost his patience and snatched the paper from him. Potter’s face was on the front of it, or Draco’s face, depending on how one looked at it, since the picture had been taken yesterday. Above it the headline read Chosen one on tour of doom in Hogsmede.
“Oh, come on” Draco snorted. “That’s hardly front page material.”
Weasley gave him a curious look but didn’t say anything. Draco flipped through the paper to find a four page article.
The chosen one, boy who lived, war hero etcetera. There are many names for the golden boy who conquered the dark lord at the age of seventeen.
They’d save a lot of ink by calling him Potter, Draco thought.
Harry Potter, 18, returned to Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry this year to complete his education and focus on his academic career. “Yeah, right” Draco muttered.
Yet it appears the chosen one has become bored with this quiet life and is rebelling once more. Yesterday he spent an interesting afternoon in the village of Hogsmede, venturing from shop to shop, frightening customers and arrogantly demanding they’d leave to let him have the stores to himself. He rounded this tour of doom off by getting drunk in a pub at a time by which he should have attended class.
“Now that’s just not true” Draco said indignantly. It’d been well past his last lesson by the time he’d made it to the Three Broomsticks, and he hadn’t been that drunk.
“It never is mate” Weasley said sympathetically. “It’s Rita Skeeter writing, you know how she always makes stuff up. I mean, that thing with the slug on your bum was downright ridiculous.”
“What?” Draco said exasperated and continued reading.
The boy who is known to otherwise be restricted with giving out personal information became more talkative after a few drinks and committed to an exclusive interview.
“I so did not” Draco exclaimed and to his horror there was a list of q&a’s made up from his discussion with Jaques. The slug tattoo was there alright, as well as Harry’s boggart being a winged turtle, which Draco had found particularly funny at the moment. The article was hilarious, it was completely full of crap and no one in their right mind would believe a word of it. But laughter stuck in his throat as he studied the picture of him and Jaques smiling at each other. It was a rather nice one, Potter usually looked like he was about to knock out the photographer but here he was relaxed and smiling, his features soft and his eyes lingering on Jaques’ mouth. At the same moment as Draco had been imagining pushing his tongue between those lips, Jaques was probably counting the galleons he’d get from the Prophet. He assumed he should be glad he hadn’t taken him up on his offer to go somewhere more private. Now that would have been an article worthy of the front page.
Skeeter had really made the most of it, apart from the so-called interview, she’d devoted half a page to speculations about who the mysterious young man who’d spent the evening with Potter was.
“Oh this is bad” Draco groaned, throwing himself down on the bed, hiding his face under the pillow.
“It’ll blow over soon” Weasley said. “You know how it is, people will talk for a day or two and then forget about it.”
True as that might be, it wasn’t really people in general that Draco was worried about but a certain Gryffindor in particular. Potter was going to hex his balls off for this.
“You could always put the cloak on” Weasley suggested.
“That’s brilliant” Draco said, emerging from under the pillow. He’d heard rumors about Potter having an invisibility cloak. After rummaging around in Potter’s trunk for a few seconds he found what he was looking for and triumphantly hauled out a silky fabric. This was so much better than the disillusionment charms that tended to wear off every twenty seconds. He was going to have a lot of fun with this.
Before he had time to put it on there was a knock on the door and Professor Gastell appeared, demanding to speak to him in private, a stern look on her face as if she was about to prove him wrong about Potter getting away with everything. “Sorry” Weasley mouthted behind her back as he left the room.
“So, is it true? The part about you skipping class to go into Hogsmede?” She pulled a copy of the Prophet out of her robe pocket.
A harsh tell off and half a dozen of mumbled apologizes later he was landed with a detention for the afternoon which was a setback on his plans to roam the school under Potter’s cloak. He sighed.
Gastell’s scrutinized his face, her expression changing to one of concern. “How are you doing, Mr Potter?”
“I’m fine” he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. If Draco had been caught skipping classes, Slughorn sure wouldn’t be asking him how he was feeling, though of course Potter didn’t play by the same rules as the rest of them. He decided to take a chance.
“School’s pretty tough this year though, and I have lots of homework that I need to catch up with tonight.” He tried for the puppy eyes.
“Alright Mr Potter” she said giving him a sharp look. “Let’s reschedule your detention to the following Thursday, you’d better set a plan how to get through your homework until then.”
That was brilliant, it meant Potter would have to do it. Draco tried his best to hide his smile. Potter would be furious of course and perhaps it wasn’t clever to anger him further, but he probably wouldn’t find out until next week and Draco would think of a plan to get out of his way until then.
The cloak turned out to be a brilliant move, not only did it keep him away from Potter but it made it easier to avoid his fan club who was more tedious than ever after the article. He couldn’t keep it on in class though and had to suffer Granger telling him off in charms but he managed to tune out for most of it.
Worse was Potter staring daggers at him in history of magic. Fortunately, he was sitting in Draco’s usual seat in the front of the class and Draco was in the back row with Weasley and Granger. That hadn’t stopped Potter from turning around, glaring at him for five minutes straight in the beginning of class before Pansy, bless her, had shoved his arm and forced him to face Professor Binns. He kept looking at Draco every now and then though, only seeming madder by the minute.
That was not a good look on his face, Draco mused. He usually managed to conceal his emotions well, unlike Potter who tended to wear his heart on his sleeve and being trapped in Draco’s body hadn’t changed that. Moreover, Draco Malfoy going around looking as if he was planning to murder Harry Potter wouldn’t do any wonders for his social status. Not that Draco had much popularity to lose but at least most people were ignoring him by now. Any misstep including the golden boy though and they’d all turn against him openly. He didn’t think his shield charm was powerful enough to withhold the entire school.
His hair was looking awful too, flattened to his head on one side and standing straight on edge on the other, but today was obviously not the day for deprecating Potter on it.
“Is something going on with you and Malfoy?” Granger asked, taking a break from copying down every word Binns was saying, as if he wasn’t speaking straight out of the text book.
“What do you mean?” Draco asked, feigning ignorance, which didn’t work very well as Potter chose that moment to mouth what looked like I’m going to kill you. Granger gave him a pointed look.
“He’s probably jealous for all the attention Harry is getting” Weasley came to his rescue. “You know how that always twists the bastard’s head.”
Draco swallowed the insult and made a mental note to hex Weasley later. “Yeah, probably” he said instead, Potter was mad about the attention after all.
He threw a glance at his watch, Potter’s watch, and assuming it managed to tell the correct time despite all the dents, it was three minutes until morning break. He started to gather his belongings, aiming for a quick departure so that Potter wouldn’t catch up with him.
Everything worked out well until lunch, where he was stared and laughed at quite a bit in the great hall but managed to ignore it in what he thought was a dignified way. Then Weasley, the bastard, went chatting with him on their way to the library but suddenly took off to the loo, leaving him on his own in the corridor, and that’s when Potter found him.
He was shoved hard against the wall. “Was this your plan all along?” Potter hissed at him. “Did you put the hag up to this so that you could fuck with my life?”
“What? No!” Draco exclaimed and Potter looked like he was trying to determine whether he was telling the truth or not. He took advantage of the moment of hesitation by pushing Potter off him and given that he had the benefit of being the heavier one at the moment it worked quite well and he watched Potter tumble backwards. He regained his balance at the last second and drew the hawthorn wand, pointing it straight into Draco’s face.
Draco didn’t think Potter would hurt him too badly, he’d chosen to finish off the dark lord with an expelliarmus after all, but there was a group of sixth year Ravenclaws heading their way. At the moment they hadn’t taken notice of them but once they spotted Draco Malfoy pointing his wand at Harry Potter, it’d be mayhem.
“I’m sorry” he said, hearing the panic in his own voice. “Please.”
Potter frowned at the look of his face and lowered his wand a little. The sound of footsteps and chattering voices drew nearer.
“Please, Potter, if they see you hexing me while looking like that, I’m fucked.”
It was a stupid thing to say of course, he’d just served Potter ammunition for the perfect revenge; have Draco take the pain of the hex and be blamed for it for all eternity. Potter could just stay out of everyone’s way until the curse wore off and then enjoy watching Draco suffer for the rest of the year. But to his surprise, Potter lowered his wand.
“OK, Malfoy, let’s go somewhere where I can hex you in private” he said, the murderous look still on his face. “You can lead the way, and don’t you dare try to run away.”
*****
Harry trailed behind Malfoy up two flights of stairs and through a narrow corridor. He half suspected him to escape through some hidden passageway but eventually he stopped and held a door open.
“Well, here we are Potter, your favorite place to hex me” he made a theatrical wave around the room.
Harry stopped bewildered, staring at the walls of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.
“I wonder what will happen if you curse me now, if it’ll be you or I who scar when the spell wears off” Malfoy drawled in an obvious attempt to make him loose focus but Harry wouldn’t have it.
“Don’t change the subject Malfoy” he snarled. “You couldn’t even go 24 hours before you fucked everything up, could you? Why did you do it? Were you trying to get back at me for sixth year? Or was this your idea of a good prank?”
Malfoy snorted. “Yes, because people are so amused by my pranks these days.”
“Why then?” Harry asked, folding his arms across his chest. He wasn’t grasping his wand any longer and neither was Malfoy. The urge to hex him had faded at the sight of panic in Malfoy’s eyes just to disappear altogether when entering the bathroom. He was perfectly fine with yelling at the git though.
Malfoy stayed quiet for a long time but Harry was determined to wait him out. He finally let out a sigh and spoke, not meeting Harry’s eyes.
“I just wanted to take the opportunity to go some places in Hogsmede, it’s not really an option when you’re me.”
“Well, it’s not that great for me either, as you might have noticed” Harry said stiffly.
“At least no one spits at you in the streets. And they let you into the shops.”
“Yeah and when I’m in there everyone stares at me and follows me around asking for autographs, it’s not really much better” he said, although he silently had to admit that it was probably a little better. “Why do you think I go to the Hog’s Head? The good quality mead? The opportunity to feed among goats?”
Malfoy studied him for a while. “It shouldn’t be like that. You saved the world, if you want to be left alone, people should leave you alone.”
“Is that what you said when you went around being rude to everyone?” Harry asked, praying it wasn’t.
“I merely asked for some privacy while browsing, it’s a reasonable request.”
Harry frowned, Malfoy made it sound as if it was the easiest thing in the world. It probably was when you were an arrogant bastard who didn’t have an ounce of respect for other people.
“One could say people don’t have any respect for you” Malfoy said and Harry realized he’d voiced his thoughts out loud. Well, he wasn’t too concerned about letting Malfoy know he found him a rude bastard.
“You don’t owe people anything, you’ve done quite enough.” Malfoy almost sounded sympathetic, he was probably faking it to get Harry to lay off him.
Harry sighed, thinking they weren’t getting anywhere with this. “Whatever. It doesn’t explain why you had to go and give that interview.”
The question made Malfoy grin. “I didn’t. I was having a nice time at the pub with this bloke, we were messing around, asking each other stupid questions. I didn’t think there was anything more to it.”
“The mysterious, handsome young man” Harry said dryly, quoting the article.
“Mm” Malfoy said, looking slightly embarrassed. “How was I supposed to know he would take notes and sell it to the press?”
Harry let out a hollow laugh. “How could you think he wouldn’t? Everyone wants something from me, one way or the other. They don’t go around being nice to me for no reason, they see the chosen one and try to find a way to use that.” He glared at Malfoy. “You if anyone should know that everything I do end up in the paper.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Malfoy asked defensively. He’d been looking at Harry with an unreadable expression as he’d spoken.
“It wasn’t exactly the first time you spoke to the press about me, was it?”
“Yeah well…” Malfoy muttered, staring at his shoes. “That was in fourth year…”
“You have to watch your back when you are me too, especially outside school. There are always reporters lurking. Hell, that guy you were talking to, it was probably Rita Skeeter under a glamour, she’s been following me since the trials.”
At this Malfoy looked slightly sick, then he shook his head. “Are you really upset about the article?” he asked. “Your friends don’t care” he continued before Harry had a chance to answer. “Weasley said it was all made-up rubbish and from what I gathered in your common room, no one believes it, they just find it hilarious.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” Harry couldn’t help but smile. “No, I’m not upset” he added, finding out he meant it, yelling at Malfoy had somehow vanished most of his anger. “There’s weird stuff about me in there all the time, it’s just…if we’re going to get through this week without giving ourselves away, you can’t keep doing stuff like that.”
Malfoy sighed. “Yeah, I guess it was a bit out of character for you.”
“A bit out of character” Harry said exasperated. “You behaved like a prat in front of an entire town and then gave an interview about my bum.”
Malfoy sniggered. “Maybe I should just stay under your cloak for the rest of the week.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed at the realization. “Is that how you’ve been avoiding me all day?”
“Kind of” Malfoy said with a smirk. “It’s quite useful.” He pulled the familiar fabric out of his robe.
Harry considering demanding it back but decided against it, given how Malfoy had gone about things so far, the more he stayed out of people’s sight, the better it was. “Don’t lose it” he said firmly. “And don’t use it for anything weird.”
Malfoy grinned. “Right, because you never have.”
“It’s my cloak, I could do what I want in it” Harry said, grinning back.
The room filled with an unfamiliar air of ease and warmth that took him aback. Him and Malfoy sharing a joke was unprecedented, as if they’d opened the door to a parallel universe. Harry didn’t know how to go about things from there and for once even Malfoy looked uncertain.
Harry cleared his throat. “I think we need to keep each other updated about what happens for the rest of the week” he said, trying for a practical approach. “Or we might mess this up.”
“Fine” Malfoy muttered, appearing to mull things over. “You got a detention next Thursday” he said.
Harry grinded his teeth, he should have expected that.
“You can probably talk your way out of it” Malfoy added quickly, perhaps fearing Harry was working up to another outburst. “Anyway, it’ll probably just be doing lines or something.” He noticed Harry flinch. “What, you have something against lines? You’re well practiced for it, all those autographs. But I guess you’d rather be doing something heroic, like roaming around in the forbidden forest with werewolves, like when we…”
He stopped and froze as Harry grabbed his wrist. “This is what happened last time I did lines” he said, pressing his thumb over the patch of skin where the faint words I must not tell lies were still etched.
“Oh” Malfoy said, looking at his hand with curiosity. “I hadn’t noticed that one.” He studied it for a while. “Umbridge, right?”
Harry nodded, finding the lack of pity somewhat refreshing.
“Well, it’s still better than the one I’ve got” Malfoy said, indicating Harry’s left arm. His tone was casual but he eyed Harry with apprehension.
“I suppose” Harry mumbled, not quite knowing what to say to that. He’d avoided looking at Malfoy’s body in general but he’d taken special care not to roll up his sleeves. He knew the mark was there of course, everyone did by now. Harry had even seen it, if only from the other side of the courtroom when Malfoy had been asked by the chief warlock to present his bare skin to the room. For a moment it had looked like he was going to refuse but then he’d sighed and pushed back his robe, facing the inevitable outcry of shock and disgust from the Wizengamot members.
The press had been ruthless and so had the students, not bothering to keep their voices down about it in the beginning of term. Harry thought the way Malfoy had ignored them was admirable, though he’d also noticed he never rolled his sleeves back even though September had been cruelly warm this year. Given that, he didn’t think Malfoy would want him to stare at the mark, and he wasn’t especially keen to see it up close either. That said, it wasn’t the part of Malfoy he was most anxious about.
“Did it scar badly?” he blurted out before he could stop himself, making a vague hand gesture towards his chest.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You could just see for yourself Potter.”
“Yeah, I’ve sort of been avoiding looking too much” Harry said. “Seemed impolite.” He blushed at his words but the insinuation of naked bodies brought on an air of normal teenage embarrassment that felt liberating next to the weighted shame of scars, curses and wrong choices. Perhaps Malfoy felt it too and arranged his features into his usual sneer.
“You’re allowed to look in the mirror, Potter. In fact, I would appreciate it if you did. And please have a shower, you need to do something about my hair, it looks awful.”
Harry half expected him to draw his fingers through it again and felt a hint of something close to disappointment when Malfoy didn’t but simply kept staring at his head with dislike.
“Er, you can shower too if you want” Harry said, wondering if Malfoy already had and feeling his cheeks redden further, expecting his face would look like a bloody lantern if he’d dared a glance at it in one of the many mirrors. Damn Malfoy’s marble white skin. “You have quidditch practice this afternoon, so I suppose you’ll want to” he added to say something reasonably normal.
Malfoy’s face fell. “I have to do quidditch? With Gryffindors? I haven’t flown since…” He gathered himself and added “I mean I haven’t been on a broom for a while” in a more neutral tone.
Harry figured Malfoy had been about to say he hadn’t flown since the fiendfyre. “You can’t just skip practice” he warned. “But you don’t have to do it if you’re scared, just say you’re feeling ill and stay on the ground.”
“I’m not scared” Malfoy said firmly, fooling no one. “I just don’t want to raise suspicions, we don’t fly in the same way and…”
“Whatever Malfoy” Harry interrupted, taking the chance to roll his eyes at him. “Do what you want, just don’t skip it altogether without telling Ron. And don’t skive off any more classes.”
“I won’t, alright” Malfoy said. “You have arithmancy in ten minutes by the way. I’m obviously not entitled to telling you off if you want to skip it, but I’d appreciate it if you’d go and take notes on what’s for homework.”
“No, I’ll go” Harry said reluctantly. “We should try to do things as close to normal as possible from now on.”
As he entered the classroom a few minutes later, he regretted his words. He didn’t know how he was going to make it through sixty minutes of advanced arithmancy. He had a vague idea of it having something to do with numbers.
Glancing around the classroom, it all seemed pretty intimidating, chalkboards filled with equations and weird spheric objects, looking somewhat like giant timeturners, hoovering in the air. He hoped this wasn’t going to be a practical lesson or Malfoy could expect another zero.
There were only a few students in the room, making it harder to blend in, though he was relieved to see a familiar face in the second row. “Hi” he said, sliding down in the seat next to Hermione. “What’s up?”
She simply stared at him and too late he realized his mistake. Malfoy probably didn’t sit next to Hermione, he probably sat on the other side of the room next to Zabini who was looking at him with his eyebrows shot up so high they almost blended into his hairline. And Malfoy certainly wouldn’t ask Hermione what was up. He probably didn’t ask anyone that.
“Er, I mean, how are you doing?” he corrected himself, his cheeks going red again. After this week, everyone would think Malfoy’s ordinary skin tone was that of a tomato.
Before she had time to say anything, Professor Vector began to speak, saving Harry from continuing their exchange but also making it too late to switch seats. He could see Hermione shaking her head in disbelief in the corner of his eye.
After ten minutes of incomprehensible babbling and some furious scribbling on chalkboards, Professor Vector left them to work on their own. Harry glanced at Hermione’s writing and put down the same equations on his parchment, hoping he wouldn’t be asked to explain the calculations in front of the class.
“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth while feverishly scribbling numbers next to what looked like a lunar chart. Harry gave up on copying.
“Er…” he offered, regretting he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes with coming up for a reason for his choice of seating instead of blankly staring at Vector drawing circles around number 747. Perhaps he could ask about something related to arithmancy, except that he didn’t have any grasp of the subject. And Malfoy would of course have asked Zabini. “I wanted to talk to you” he said lamely, half expecting her to tell him to piss off but unfortunately she only gave him a querying look.
“What about?”
Harry stared straight ahead, hoping Vector would start babbling again but when that didn’t happen within the next 30 seconds of uncomfortable silence, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “I wanted to apologize to you.”
“Apologize?”
Harry nodded, encouraged by the fact that she hadn’t hit him over the head with her book. “I’m sorry for everything I said about you and your parents over the years. For calling you…that word. I was wrong and I regret it.” It wasn’t bad, Harry thought. It was what Malfoy ought to say to Hermione if he ever was to talk to her. “And also, I think you are very clever” he added, thinking Malfoy would want to hex him to pieces for this, but on the other hand he had put it into national news that Harry had a slug on his ass, so maybe they were even.
“Thank you for saying that” Hermione said sounding much surprised but also a little pleased.
After that, Vector called their attention back to the chalkboards and there was no more time for talking.
*****
Draco put the cloak away that afternoon. Now that Potter had caught him, there wasn’t really a point of it anymore, and tempting as it was to hide underneath it, he assumed it would also raise suspicion if the golden boy kept disappearing between classes.
Potter had been surprisingly decent about the whole Prophet thing, which was a relief and a nuisance at the same time. Saint bloody Potter. Draco wished there was something that didn’t make Potter so damn good and perfect, something that he could hold on to to make the knowledge of everything he owed him easier to bear.
The only thing he’d come up with so far was that Potter was extremely messy, which wasn’t a character flaw big enough to balance the fact that Potter had saved him from burning to death and from rotting away in Azkaban. Nevertheless it was a source of annoyance for Draco this week.
His upper body buried in Potter’s trunk, he rummaged around in the feeble light of a lumos, trying to achieve some kind of order. There were a lot of useless objects in there that he didn’t know what to do with, apart from the disturbing number of mismatching socks there was a shard of glass and an old snitch cut in half. He was considering throwing out a piece of old, folded parchment with nothing written on it when he was interrupted by Weasley.
“I think we’d better get ready.”
Draco frowned into the trunk, debating whether to fly or not to fly. When he stood up, Weasley had already gotten his Cleansweep Eleven out.
Why was he still hanging on to a rubbish broom like that? Surely helping the chosen one to rid the world of Voldemort should have awarded him a decent broom? And how come Weasley was captain instead of Potter? Draco hadn’t found out the reason behind that turn of events, though it was probably a good thing at the moment he didn’t need to coach a team.
You don’t have to if you’re scared. Well, he certainly wouldn’t give Potter the satisfaction of knowing he’d been too afraid to mount a broom. He bent over the trunk once more and grabbed the, now easily locatable, Firebolt. He felt a jolt of excitement as he let his hand run over the handle and straightened one of the twigs. Now that at least was a good broom.
There were newer models on the market by now of course but the Firebolt was still one of the top brands. He’d been dying to ride one ever since Potter got his hands on it but he’d never had the chance to. His father, who could well have afforded to get him one, hadn’t seen the point since he seemed unable to catch the snitch before Potter whatever broom he was on. Five years later, the words still stung.
As he and Weasley headed for the pitch he was beginning to regret his decision. While his grip around the broom handle felt achingly familiar it also sent a wave of smoke and singed hair his way and the lurking shadow of a friend left behind in the flames that he’d hidden deep in his mind threatened to push forwards.
He inhaled the cold autumn air, telling himself that he’d be flying outside on a clear November day and that there was minimal risk of getting trapped in an enclosed, smoky space. And even if something happened, it’d happen to Potter, right? If he fell off his broom, Potter would most likely suffer the long term injuries, which served him right for making Draco do this.
The rest of the team, including Ginny Weasley, were already waiting on the pitch. She mouthed a silent hello to him and offered a smile. He nodded, tried for one in return but he was so tense it probably came out more like a frown and she evaded her eyes, looking hurt.
Until now he’d managed to suppress the fact that he’d be flying in front of people. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was making a fool of himself publicly, especially if said public consisted of Gryffindors. He tried to find comfort in the thought that if he’d embarrass himself, Potter would have to bear the shame. Besides, Potter got away with everything. Draco could probably fall on his arse and everyone would think it was a new, brilliant move he’d invented.
When Weasley finished the pep talk that Draco had been too nervous to listen to, the rest of the team mounted their brooms and Draco saw no choice but to follow. As soon as he kicked off the ground on shaky legs, there was a rush of adrenaline and he shot straight into the air, completely ignoring Weasley’s instructions to the team. He’d known he missed flying, he just hadn’t realized how much, that he’d been carrying a longing for it like an aching hunger, not given the opportunity to feed until now.
*****
Harry left the arithmancy classroom a little lightheaded and with a some very inadequate notes on the essay Professor Vector had sat.
It’d been the last lesson of the day and he threw a glance at the far too fancy watch on his wrist, a glittering band of silver and sapphires, and noticed he had a couple of hours to kill before dinner. He opted for a walk around the grounds and found his feet leading him towards the quidditch pitch.
He could watch, he thought, there was usually a bunch of students in the quidditch stands at their practices. Some from opposing teams, trying to pick up on Gryffindor’s techniques, some who just enjoyed hanging out in the open air when there was some action and some who, he was embarrassed to admit, came to get a look at him. Malfoy didn’t fit into either of those categories since he was no longer playing for his house team but Harry figured he could simply keep his hood up and blend in with the rest of the spectators.
He had to admit he was kind of curious to watch Malfoy fly again. Besides, considering how he’d gone about impersonating Harry so far, it could only be wise to keep an eye on Malfoy, he reasoned. Merlin he hoped he wasn’t going to be rude to his teammates.
As he was closing in on the stands, Parkinson caught up with him and linked her arm around his. Harry tried hard not to flinch at the touch. So far he’d managed to limit their intimacy to sitting next to her in class and at meals but he figured that was only thanks to not finding himself alone with her until now.
“Er, I was going to watch quidditch” he said, hoping she’d be bored by that but instead she grinned.
“Figured, I’m coming with.”
There wasn’t much he could say to that, so he headed to the pitch to watch himself play quidditch in the company of Pansy Parkinson. Surreal wasn’t a strong enough word.
“Usual place?” she asked, steering him towards the stand closest to the spot where Ron held their team meetings before they got in the air.
“Er, yeah” Harry said, confused by her words. It sounded like this was a reoccurring activity for the two of them though he had never seen Malfoy in their practices before and he figured he would have spotted him. He was a seeker after all, he was supposed to notice things. And since the start of term he’d found his neck twist whenever there was a blond head in sight, probably a habit that had stuck with him since sixth year.
He allowed himself to be led, hoping she wouldn’t take them under the stands where he knew couples headed to snog. Whenever he’d found Ginny lingering there after their practices he’d panicked and bolted straight for the changing rooms. Fortunately, Parkinson took him up the spectators’ seats though she stopped before they got into the row, pulling him to a standstill.
“Shall you or I do it?”
He stared at her bewildered.
“The disillusionment charms” she said impatiently. “Or do you want the Gryffindors to see you today?”
“No, absolutely not” he said quickly and nodded to her. “Go on then.”
He watched his limbs turn transparent as she directed her wand at him. It was a good thing she couldn’t see his astonished face as he stared down his missing body. This was something entirely different than having the cloak draped around him where he’d still been able to see himself but now there was nothing but air when he held his hands in front of his face.
Safely obscured by the spell, he took his time to study Malfoy as he mounted the Firebolt, apparently he had decided to fly after all. The way he shot straight in the air didn’t reveal the fact that he hadn’t been on a broom for six months. He had been right about his and Harry’s styles being different though but fortunately Ron had decided to focus the practice on the chasers and beaters and no one paid much attention to him circling the pitch.
“Do you miss it?” Parkinson asked next to him, her voice gentle.
“I think I do” Harry said, watching Malfoy pull up from a dive right in front of them, his eyes watery from the wind. There was a smile playing on his lips and Harry found himself wondering what Malfoy would have looked like at the moment if he’d been himself. Had he ever seen him happy, unless you counted the numerous times his face had lit up with malicious joy as he watched Harry fuck something up?
Was Malfoy missing the game the reason he came to watch? It’d make more sense if he went to the Slytherin practices in that case, but perhaps he did that too.
“You could probably still make it to the team as a reserve. You’re way better than Harper.”
“I am” Harry admitted in a perfect arrogant imitation of Malfoy. It was true though, Malfoy wasn’t a bad flyer and he’d occasionally found himself thinking longingly of beating the bastard to a game. Quidditch hadn’t been quite the same without their old rivalry to spur him on the pitch this term.
There was an argument near one of the goalposts, Ginny and Demelza had collided in the air as they'd gone for the quaffle at the same time and none of them looked like they enjoyed what Ron had to say about it. Perhaps he should make some snide remark about it, it was what the Slytherins used to do in the past to sabotage their practices, but Parkinson didn’t seem to expect it.
“You’re still thinking of that article, aren’t you?” she asked instead.
“No I’m not” Harry said truthfully. He had pretty much let it go after speaking to Malfoy about it, knowing the talk would fade in a few days and he honestly didn’t think Malfoy had meant much harm by it, he’d simply been reckless. “Why would I?”
“I don’t think there is anything going on with him and that guy, it was probably just some random stranger. I think Potter was just being polite.”
Harry turned his head towards her so fast he almost snapped his neck, staring into the air, wishing her face was visible for him to read. “Something going on?” he asked incredulous.
“Well, there were some hints about a romance, right?”
Harry’s heart beat hard against his chest. He hadn’t interpreted it that way, but he’d been pretty mad at Malfoy and more or less stopped reading after the part about him not planning to go into auror training after school but focusing on writing his autobiography and have it turned into a musical.
“People think he’s gay?” he asked quietly.
Parkinson shrugged, her warm hand finding his. He didn’t even bother to be nervous about it. “People in general hardly think so or there’d be more talking, it’d be quite a scandal if he was. But you never know, do you? He and Ginny Weasley haven’t been seen together for quite some time.”
“They’re still together” Harry said quickly.
“Yes, I suppose, but they don’t exactly seem happy together, do they?”
Harry didn’t reply but looked at Ginny who had her eyes on Malfoy, doing loops without taking any notice of her. It was true what Parkinson said, they hadn’t been happy together for a while and it was his fault. Ginny had expected them to take up where they left off after the battle, hell, everyone had. But it hadn’t felt right. A lot of things hadn’t felt right after the war, which he’d told her and she’d taken it as a promise that they would be together eventually, that he simply needed to work some things out. But the more he thought about it, the more sure he got that he didn’t want to continue along the path laid out to him.
Parkinson squeezed his hand. “Do you think he’s gay?” she asked gently. There wasn’t any trace of taunt to her question, like he wasn’t expected to sneer and say that he thought Harry Potter was a fucking ponce.
“I don’t know” he said honestly, his throat dry. He’d had some dreams about people who’d been blurred beyond recognition, but they’d definitely been men and the dreams had definitely been sexual. He hadn’t allowed himself to explore the meaning behind it. It was like Parkinson said, it’d be quite a scandal. And how was he supposed to find out anyway, he thought bitterly, when he couldn’t even look at someone without it ending up in the papers. Hell, Malfoy had only talked to that guy over a butterbeer and yet it hade made for a full spread article.
“I think he could be” Parkinson said. There was another squeeze to his hand and her head came to rest on his shoulder. He sat frozen, watching himself fly around the pitch, not knowing what to make of her words.
*****
Draco landed on solid ground after an hour of intense flying, yet it was too soon. He handed Weasley the snitch with a triumphant smile, he had managed to catch it three times after all.
“Good practice” he said while helping to get the bludgers into place.
Weasley nodded. “Yeah. Were you trying something new today, you looked different?”
“Maybe” Draco said vaguely. He knew Potter preferred making big swoops around the arena and then make a deep dive straight for the snitch whereas Draco kept crisscrossing the air in his search, often catching the golden ball close to where he’d spotted it.
“It looked good” Weasley said. “You should keep it up, you looked lighter somehow, more technical.”
“Thanks” Draco said, hating how his heart swelled with pride at the compliment. He wasn’t used to the genuine praise, the Slytherins tended to taunt each other about their mistakes rather than pointing out one’s achievements. If there ever was a compliment it was embedded in the insult of being a show off.
“What do you reckon about our chances against Ravenclaw?” Weasley asked as they carried the crate back to the shed together. “I know I told the others we have the game in the bag but I’m not so sure.”
“I think you…we will win” Draco mused. “Their chasers are pretty good but you’re a better keeper than Martinson so we’re likely to score better. I guess it’ll depend on how well we manage to stay out of the beaters’ way.”
“Yeah, it’s what I worry about too” Weasley agreed. “I was planning to devote the next practice to dodging bludgers.”
Draco was glad that hadn’t been today’s session, he didn’t think having the heavy spheres aimed at him for a whole hour would have been the best way to be reintroduced to the game. He did kind of enjoy talking to Weasley about quidditch though and as much as it pained him, he had to admit the guy made a good job as coach. Everyone might look to Potter for leadership but Weasley got strategy.
“You play well this year” he said, thinking Weasley would never know he’d been complimented by a Malfoy. “You had a very high saving rate against the Hufflepuffs.” It felt weird saying nice things without being ironic about it.
Weasley shrugged. “I guess there is something about living through a war, it makes an arena full of onlooking students seem a little less frightening, even if they were to be singing about how rubbish I am.” He closed the door to the broomshed and Draco felt an unexpected pang of guilt.
Over the years he’d imagined Weasley as nothing but Potter’s faithful sidekick, trailing behind him, always second best to him, just like Vince and Greg had never been anything more than that to him. Now he wasn’t so sure. Weasley wasn’t sucking up to Potter, he just seemed genuinely nice. And Potter appeared to really care about his opinion, he wasn’t just ordering him about the way Draco had done to his classmates.
Well, friendship was just another of many things that Potter had and he didn’t he thought, swallowing the bitterness.
“Ready to hit the showers?”
Draco stopped in his tracks, looking down his front. He definitely needed one. So far he’d stuck to scourgifying himself but that wouldn’t do now he was more or less bathing in sweat and mud. He didn’t think he could cope with flashes of Weasley’s naked body though, seeing himself as Potter would be enough of an adjustment. “I think I’ll stay out a little longer actually” he said. “You know, fly it off.”
It was a stupid comment, he had been more or less left to fly on his own for the past hour but Weasley didn’t question him. “Guess you want to hide that slug on your arse” he grinned before he turned and walked back to the changing rooms on his own.
When he got back on the broom his muscles were already aching from the earlier exercise but he still shot up in the air and hoovered the grounds, soon spotting a blond head next to a darker one. Edging a little closer, he was able to make out that it was Pansy, clinging to his arm, well Potter’s arm.
By the look of it, Potter wasn’t comfortable with this development and neither was Draco. As usual, Pansy was chatting away next to him and even if he wasn’t close enough to make out her words he could well imagine what she was saying. He felt his face heating. There wasn’t much he could do about it at the moment though, except for hoping Potter was oblivious enough not to decipher her usual insinuations.
Thinking he’d given Weasley more than enough time for a shower and a wank, he redirected the firebolt towards the changing rooms.
He was alone as expected. He threw a locking charm on the door and undressed quickly, exposing the naked body he’d fantasized about countless of times over the years but for some reason had avoided looking at when served the opportunity the past few days. He’d seen parts of it of course, while changing or being in the loo though he’d determinedly kept his eyes off his prick as much as possible in order to avoid getting a hard one when taking a piss. Now a full erection was bobbing against his stomach and he allowed himself to look down.
It was smaller than he’d pictured it, it’d been strange if it hadn't, his fantasies tended to verge on the extreme. It was about the same size as his own but felt nice and thick in his hand. Fuck, he had to let go to stop himself from coming right there without even stroking himself. He’d probably wanked to the idea of that cock a hundred times and fantasized about that hand closing around him for just as many.
Eager not to waste any more time, he laid down on his back on the hard bench and grabbed the shaft again. He had half a thought of drawing it out but who the fuck was he kidding, he came hard after just a few strokes.
Afterwards he got into the shower and took his time to look at the rest of his body. There weren’t any mirrors here but he was satisfied to take in the body parts one at the time. Legs, muscled and covered in dark hair, not so much hair growth that it was eyecatching, yet enough to fascinate him whose pale hair were practically invisible. Goosebumps formed on his skin as he trailed his fingers down his thighs. Potter’s hands were rough though, he’d bet this would feel different under his own touch, just like it’d feel different being touched by Potter than by himself.
He moved on to the arms, biceps more prominent than his own. Traced his torso with his fingers. Nipples darker than his, a flat abdomen, a line of dark hair trailing down to his crotch ending in curls along his shaft. He found scars, the ones he knew about and some that were new to him. The jawline was rough with stubble. He felt his scalp, threaded his fingers through the messy curls that had driven him crazy over the years, not being able to decide if he wanted to comb, gently stroke or pull hard at it until he had Potter screaming at his hands.
For some reason, the ability to do all of it now left him melancholic rather than satisfied. The intimacy of the moment combined with the loneliness clung to his chest and he looked down at the unfamiliar hands touching what his real hands would never get to touch.
*****
Harry had given up on the library. Between sitting through Malfoy’s classes and keeping up the charade of being a Slytherin, he just didn’t have the energy for what he assumed would be a fruitless search for a counter curse to an unregistered spell. Instead he’d decided to spend the evening like Malfoy would, which he assumed meant lazing about with his housemates.
The Slytherin common room turned out to be a whole different story than the Gryffindor equivalent. Harry had never had a Slytherin classmate be friendly to him which he’d pinned down to house rivalry but spending time among them, it struck him that they weren’t very nice to each other either. Parkinson was the only one who was close to kind to him, but then she was Malfoy’s girlfriend.
He had just been sitting by the fireplace for fifteen minutes but so far there had been about ten rather bad insults thrown around, two of them aimed at him which he’d answered by giving some kid he didn’t know the finger because that seemed to be the way to go about things here. It was rather awful, yet somewhat liberating at the same time.
The Slytherins were also less private when it came to displaying affection. There were currently three couples snogging, Daphne Greengrass looked like she was about to take things to the next level any second with some seventh year, Millicent Bulstrode and Theodor Nott were kissing noisily, like two giant slugs in a battle to swallow one another, providing Harry with nightmare material for the next month and, to his surprise, two fifth year guys were getting intimate in the corner without anyone taking notice.
Harry had strategically chosen an armchair instead of taking a seat in the sofa to avoid ending up next to Parkinson, a plan that had backfired since she was now slouching on his armrest, looking like she was about to climb into his lap any second. He didn’t know how much longer he could put off snogging her.
Apart from Parkinson, Harry didn’t really get where Malfoy fitted in with these people. Zabini and Nott had been happy enough to chat with him in the dorm and in classes but spent the rest of the day ignoring him. He’d exchanged some words with Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass’ younger sister in the great hall but otherwise no one had engaged in conversation with him. And then there was Goyle, Malfoy’s lackey since first year who was sitting by himself, looking bored, occasionally glancing in his direction but turning away whenever Harry tried to meet his gaze. It was weird. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Malfoy speak to Goyle for the whole year. Moreover, he wasn’t sure he’d seen Goyle speak to anyone at all for months.
“…Potter dancing”
He’d zoned out for a while, loosing track on the conversation flowing through the room but looked up at the mentioning of his name. Apparently they were back to mocking him for the article and were stuck on the part about the Harry Potter musical. Bloody Malfoy.
“Blaise, you should try out for the role as Potter” Daphne, called out, having detached her face from the seventh year.
“Would if I could” Zabini replied “but I’m pretty sure that part will be played by Potter himself.” There was some general laughter and Harry forced his face into grin.
“You should write the songs, Draco” Harper suggested. “You’ve already written one.”
Harry hummed, wishing someone would change the subject, then realized it wouldn’t seem plausible that Malfoy, who’d taken the lead in every prank directed at him throughout the years, would sit quiet during this conversation. “Or I could make some badges” he offered. “Potter sings, support your eardrums.”
Receiving some appreciative laughter, he felt safe to drift off again as the conversation went on. His eyes came to rest on the two boys who had now cuddled up next to each other, one of them gently caressing the other’s hair. He swallowed hard.
“Who should play the Weasley girl then?” someone asked and he felt a twinge of annoyance.
Zabini barked with laughter. “I think Draco will be volunteering for that one.” There was some snicker and he responded by giving Zabini the finger, still not sure of how the jokes went here. He didn’t know what to make of the sympathetic look Parkinson gave him either.