Chances Are...

Hermione leant back in her chair, butterbeer in hand, and surveyed the scene in front of her. If someone had told her twelve months ago that she would be sitting in the Slytherin common room watching Draco Malfoy teach Harry Potter the finer points of chess playing, she would have laughed in their face and called them crazy.

But it was real. The war was over, Voldemort was dead, and Harry and Draco were very definitely friends.

Hermione watched the two boys as they played, the light from the open fire casting a soft glow on their relaxed, smiling faces. Getting to know Draco had been a revelation and Hermione just knew that she would never regret the impulse that had prompted her to invite the blond Slytherin to stay. Of course, she reflected, getting Ron to understand that would be another matter altogether.

Hermione had made the mistake of mentioning Draco’s presence in a letter to her boyfriend. The resulting tirade that she had received in return was sufficient to convince her never to bother mentioning it again.

But this peaceful isolation that their friendships had blossomed in couldn’t last forever. There were only a few weeks left until school restarted and then they would have to deal with Ron, like it or not. Watching Harry, as he lay sprawled on the floor, his eyes twinkling as he teased Draco, Hermione determined that whatever it took, she would not allow Ron to shatter this new-found friendship.

Draco was good for Harry in ways that neither she nor Ron could be. Granted, there were things that the three of them had shared over the years, things that had bound them closer than the usual bonds of friendship, but Draco just seemed to get Harry. He knew what made him tick, what to say, and when to say nothing at all. He knew every last nuance of Harry’s character, things that, even after seven years of close friendship, Hermione had never noticed.

And it was the same for Harry with Draco. Obviously during six years of bitter rivalry, the two boys had spent an enormous amount of time observing, and obsessing over the other.

When Hermione had gone to stay with Harry at Grimmauld Place, it was as much to bolster his spirits as it was to escape her parents. Harry was prone to falling into dark pits of guilt and self-loathing if left to his own devices. And ever since the end of the war, Hermione had watched as a mantle of melancholy had slipped tighter around him.

Yet, looking at him now, to hear the friendly bickering he was engaged in with Draco, she could barely believe it was the same boy.

And Draco, too, seemed far more relaxed and at ease than she could ever remember him being before. Hermione would have liked to flatter herself that her presence had played a part in both boys’ regeneration, but she was an honest girl and she knew she had nothing to do with it.

Harry and Draco just seemed to compliment each other. There was no other word for it.

“Checkmate!” Draco exclaimed gleefully.

“You cheated!” Harry accused, scowling as he watched his defeated chess pieces stomp off the board in protest.

Draco smiled lazily and stretched out in front of the fire; rather like a cat, Harry thought.

“You wound me,” he declared melodramatically, clutching at his chest. “I’ll have you know that I am the epitome of fair play.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at his antics. Harry, meanwhile, had his eyes fixed firmly to the strip of pale skin that had revealed itself when Draco’s t-shirt rode up, mid-stretch.

Ever the observant one, Hermione noticed his gaze and wondered at it. The niggling thought that had festered in her mind for the last few weeks resurfaced with a vengeance. She knew Draco liked boys, even before Harry had breathlessly told her about his failed relationship with Nott. She didn’t need confessions to understand the Slytherin boy’s sexuality. She only had to look at the way his expression altered when Harry walked in the room, to know in which direction his preferences lay.

She had tried once to raise the subject with Draco, but he had closed the conversation down so clinically that she hadn’t bothered again. There was no point forcing the issue. Harry liked girls, so maybe it was best to let sleeping dogs, or unrequited feelings, lie.

But as she looked at them now, the easy way that they sprawled so closely together, Hermione had to wonder. There was definitely something unplatonic in the way that Harry was staring at Draco’s stomach as if he’d quite like to devour it.

The wizarding world had never adopted the prejudices of its Muggle counterpart. Race and sexuality were not matters of concern; it was all about purity of blood for wizards. So Hermione had no concerns on that score, should it turn out that Harry viewed Draco as something more than a friend. And she, though a Muggleborn, had been raised in a liberal-thinking home.

No, that didn’t bother her at all. Although the thought of what Ron’s reaction would be certainly gave her pause for thought. But at the end of the day, Harry had sacrificed a large portion of his youth in order to ensure their freedom. He had even been willing to die for it. If anyone deserved the freedom to be happy, in whatever way he chose, it was Harry.

And if Draco Malfoy was what it took to keep that heartwarming smile on her friend’s face, then Hermione was damned well going to make sure that no one, not even Ron, got in the way of it.


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Draco couldn’t remember when it was that his feelings for Harry Potter had shifted from loathing, to something far more intimate. He had thought that it dated from that time in the Room of Hidden Things, when he, like so many swooning girls before him, had fallen under the spell of Harry’s heroic and chivalrous behavior.

Draco had been almost resigned to a fiery death in the Fiendfyre, when Harry had swooped down over him, hand extended in an almost mocking re-enactment of their encounter on the Hogwarts Express, and plucked him from the flames.

Despite the terror and blind panic that had been coursing through his body, he had felt another, more indefinable emotion sweep through him as he wrapped his arms round the other boy’s waist and clung on for dear life.

But now that he had given it some thought, he had begun to wonder if there had ever been anything other than some form of attraction behind his interaction with Harry. From the first time he had met Harry, as a scruffy, green-eyed boy in Madam Malkin’s, he had felt some need to be noticed by him. And when his offer of friendship was rejected, Draco had decided that if he couldn’t be his best friend, then he would be his worst enemy. Even that was better than nothing. Pansy used to tease him about pulling Potter’s pigtails; maybe she had been right all along.

Getting to know Harry, actually becoming his friend, made that attraction all the more difficult to deal with. Even after the incident that first day in the bathroom, Draco was fully convinced of Harry’s heterosexuality. So, spending most of his day, and all of his nights in the vicinity of someone he was so enamoured of, was proving to be something of a strain on Draco’s legendary reserve.

And then there was the fear that, as wonderful as this new camaraderie was, once school started up and the Weasel returned, Harry would have no use for him anymore. He would move back up to Gryffindor tower and that would be it for Draco. He would be surplus to requirements. And even if Harry tried to maintain it, the Weasel would never consent to sharing his best friend with a Slytherin, and Harry would be forced to choose. Draco wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he could win in that situation. And apart from anything else, he didn’t want to put Harry in that position.

Harry was finding it impossible to rid himself of the image of Draco and Theodore Nott together. Draco had seemed almost surprised to find out that Harry had been in ignorance of his sexual preferences; apparently it was common knowledge in most parts of Hogwarts. But then, as Harry had pointed out in his own defence, he had been a little busy fighting Dark Lords.

He had questions, so many questions, but couldn’t work out whether it was appropriate to ask them or not. Like, did Draco like girls as well, or was it just boys? Or how did he know he was gay? Or even, how did you decide who went where during sex? Harry understood the basic logistics of gay sex, but he didn’t understand how it was decided who was on the top or the bottom.

Harry wasn’t sure whether he and Draco were at that point in their friendship yet where he could ask questions of such a personal nature.

The level of their friendship was something that had been concerning him recently. Harry was conscious of the fact that school would be starting again in a couple of weeks and he would have to move out of the dungeons, away from Draco, and back up to Gryffindor tower.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to return to the tower, but he was concerned about how well his friendship with Draco would survive once the rest of the school returned. Ron, alone, would cause more than enough problems to be going on with. Hermione had mentioned in one of her letters to him that Draco was staying at the castle with them. The aftershock of Ron’s explosive reaction to this news could be felt all the way from the Burrow to Hogwarts.

Just the thought of rowing with Ron gave Harry a headache. But it was unavoidable. Harry was determined that there was no way he was giving up his friendship with Draco; it had come to mean a lot to him.

He looked over to the bed where Draco laid, the faint light from his wand softly illuminating the sleeping boy’s face. For someone with such fair hair, Draco had startlingly dark eyelashes, and Harry was fascinated to see how they fanned out against the pale skin of his face.

Harry was slowly coming to understand that there were more than just friendly feelings behind his relationship with Draco. He didn’t understand when it had happened, and he tried not to even think about the how, but he knew that he wanted something more than simple friendship.

It was a bit of a shock to him to find out that he liked boys, or rather, a boy. But what surprised Harry most, was how calmly and quickly he managed to accept this fact. For once he didn’t bemoan his fate or berate the gods for punishing him, he just accepted it.

Living in such close quarters with Draco was a little more difficult after this revelation, and Harry was concerned that he would allow his feelings to show, and thus ruin the friendship. The last thing he wanted was to scare Draco off; if he couldn’t have what he wanted from the other boy, then he would certainly settle for what they had now.

He didn’t think he dared risk what they already had, for the slightest chance of what they could have. For once, Harry’s Gryffindor courage had deserted him.


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The week before school was due to commence, Professor McGonagall called the three of them to her office before breakfast. She sat them down and explained to them how things were going to work for the so-called eighth years when the new term began.

It wasn’t going to be announced to the student body as a whole until the Welcome Feast, but as they had played such an important part in the rebuild of their school, she said that she felt they had a right to know first.

They were all stunned to find that none of them would be returning to their original houses. A separate part of the school had been set up to accommodate them, and they would live and sleep there, together.

The Headmistress explained that there were now some serious concerns about the divisive nature of the house system, and that this was an experiment to see if it was possible to do away with that system and encourage greater unity amongst the students.

Professor McGonagall took them to see their new accommodation, and Hermione was thrilled when she was shown to a single room and informed that, as Head Girl, this would be her room. There was an identical room at the side, which they were informed would belong to the Head Boy, who, it turned out, would be Ron.

Harry was pleased for both of his friends; he had no desire to assume any responsibility this term, so felt no jealousy over their new found status. However, when he saw that the remainder of the rooms only slept two people, he was a little apprehensive over who he would be now sharing a room with.

Draco seemed unfazed by this new development. He looked approvingly at their new home and then turned to the other two.

“How about it, Potter? Do you reckon you could stand sharing a room with me for a bit longer?”

Harry’s heart leapt with joy at this suggestion and he struggled to hide his enthusiasm. “I suppose I could manage it, if I have to.”

Draco just grinned broadly in return. “Is that okay?” he asked, turning to face McGonagall

“Certainly, Mr. Malfoy. We are leaving it up to you to decide on your own roommates, but we had rather hoped that the old houses would intermix.”

The remainder of that afternoon was spent packing up their belongings and moving them into their new rooms. Hermione and Harry accomplished this task fairly quickly, but Draco, having several times more belongings, took rather longer.

Harry lay back on his new bed, surveyed his new room, and realised with a groan that he was likely going to have to spend several hours assisting Draco with his unpacking again. But he couldn’t suppress a small smile at the thought of his new roommate. It would be no hardship at all to maintain their friendship now.


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Two days before the rest of the school were due to arrive, Professor McGonagall announced at breakfast that there would be a small celebration for all those involved in the clear up operation, to be held that night in the Three Broomsticks.

Harry and Hermione grinned excitedly at each other.

“It’ll be nice to get out of the school one last time before we have to get down to studying,” Hermione said.

Harry groaned. “You can’t talk about schoolwork yet, Hermione. That’s not allowed, is it, Draco?”

They both turned to Draco and saw that he was sat picking at his breakfast, with a glum expression on his face.

Harry gave him a nudge. “What’s up? Aren’t you looking forward to going out tonight?”

Draco glared at him. “I hardly think I will be welcomed in the Three Broomsticks, do you?”

“Why ever not?” Harry asked in confusion.

“Because the last time I was in there, I was putting Madam Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse.” Draco pushed his seat away from the table and stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Harry watched sadly as Draco left the room. “I forgot,” he said, turning to Hermione.

“It’s hard to remember that he was ever any other way than how he is now,” Hermione agreed.

“I don’t think I’m going to go,” Harry said decidedly. “I’m not leaving Draco here alone. He’ll just sit brooding about things. And anyway, he helped just as much as we did. Why shouldn’t he go?”

However, when Harry mentioned his intentions to Draco, the other boy was having none of it.

“Of course you’ll go. You were looking forward to it. I’ll be fine on my own for one night, Harry.”

“Then you’re coming as well,” Harry said stubbornly. “You have as much right to be there as anyone else.”

Draco sighed heavily. “I think I forfeited my right when I cast an Unforgivable on the landlady.”

Harry said no more on the subject, recognising the stubborn set of his friend’s jaw. But he decided that he would only go down to the pub with the others, purchase some drinks, and then come back up to the castle to celebrate with Draco. He didn’t care what the other boy said, he wasn’t leaving him alone.

When Harry returned from Hogsmeade later that evening, Draco was nowhere to be found in the castle. Retrieving the Marauder’s Map from his trunk, Harry unfolded it quickly.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

He watched impatiently as the layout of Hogwarts slowly appeared on the worn parchment. His eyes ran eagerly over the map of the castle, but no dot labeled ‘Draco Malfoy’ appeared. Just as he was about to panic, he finally spotted what he was looking for; Draco was outside.

Grabbing his cloak, Harry hurried down the stairs and out of the main doors. As the white marble of Dumbledore’s tomb gleamed in the distance, he could just make out a dark figure leaning against the side of it.

Hearing approaching footsteps, Draco turned round. Harry was shocked by the bleak look on his friend’s face. Unable to stop the impulse, he reached out and placed a hand on the other boy’s arm.

“Draco, are you okay?” he asked hesitantly.

Draco slid slowly down the side of the tomb until he was seated on the ground. He looked up at Harry with a familiar haunted expression in his eyes.

“Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?”

“Yes, once they see how you’ve changed. It just might take a little time.”

“What about you?” Draco demanded with a peculiar intensity in his voice.

“I already have,” Harry replied simply, holding out his hand to the other boy. “Come on, it’s cold out here. Let’s go back inside; I brought some Firewhisky back with me”

Draco grabbed his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. He stumbled slightly and fell towards Harry, who grabbed at his shoulders to steady him. There was an awkward moment as their faces were only inches apart, their eyes locked together. Draco licked his lips nervously and for a moment Harry thought that he was going to kiss him. Just as he was about to lean in himself, Draco pulled back and began brushing his robes down.

“Come on then, Harry. I believe you mentioned something about alcohol.”


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I can’t believe that you’re sharing a room with that git,” Ron fumed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron, we’ve already had this conversation. Draco’s changed, and if you gave him a chance, you’d see that.”

“I can’t believe you’re calling him that, both of you! After everything he’s said and done to us in the past. What about what he did to Bill?”

“The war’s over,” Harry said tiredly. The Welcome Feast was barely over and they had already been over this three times. He just wanted to get back to his room and relax. Plus, he hadn’t spoken to Draco since the others arrived, and he was eager to see the other boy. Especially after he had seen him catching up with Theodore Nott earlier.

“The war’s over, is it?” Ron raged. “Tell that to my mum.”

“That’s not fair,” Hermione said, noticing the anger that flashed in Harry’s eyes. “You can’t blame Draco for that.”

“Can’t I?” Ron’s voice was getting louder and Harry was sure that all the other eighth years would be able to hear them by now. “It was Death Eaters that killed Fred. His aunt, in fact. That little bastard was one of them and I’ll blame him if I like.”

Harry stood up, desperately trying to hold onto his temper. “Draco wasn’t a Death Eater. He doesn’t have the Mark.”

Ron huffed angrily. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You were at his trial, Ron,” Hermione reasoned.

“Yeah, and I watched the evil little shit get away with murder.”

“He never killed anyone,” Harry shouted, all attempt at control gone.

“He as good as did. Dumbledore would still be alive if it wasn’t for him,” Ron countered stubbornly.

“I’m not going over this with you again,” Harry said in a tight voice. “I’ll speak to you about this when you’re willing to be reasonable.” He turned and made for the door.

“You’ll be waiting a long time then,” Ron shouted after him.


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“That went well,” Draco commented as Harry stormed into their room, slamming the door behind him.

Harry just grunted in reply.

“Oh, very articulate,” Draco teased. “You spend a couple of hours in the company of other Gryffindors and you lose the power of speech.”

“Ron’s being an arse.”

Draco wisely decided to hold his tongue on the subject.

Harry flopped onto his bed and rolled over to look at him. “What, no scathing remark to make?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him, per se. I don’t like him, I’ll grant you. But he’s your friend and I’m not going to make things more difficult for you by slating him.”

Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. “You really have changed,” he marveled.

Draco grinned. “The new, improved model. What do you think?”

“I like it, a lot,” Harry replied without thinking. Then, realising what he had said, his cheeks heated up. “I’m just going for a shower,” he muttered, before scurrying into the bathroom.


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An extra table had been added to the Great Hall for the eighth years, so that they could be together at all times. It was a lot smaller than the other four, as there were only sixteen of them.

Looking around the table, Harry couldn’t help but notice those who were missing. There were more Gryffindors who had returned than any other house; only Seamus and Parvati were missing. Aside from Draco, there were three other Slytherins, four from Hufflepuff and only two Ravenclaws.

Lessons began in earnest, and by the end of the first week, Harry was seriously questioning his decision to return. Potions, especially, had already proved a challenge. Without the Half-Blood Prince’s assistance, he found himself reduced to relying on his own meager talents. Professor Slughorn was surprised by the drop in standards to say the least.

Ron was still sulking and had now progressed into ignoring his very existence. That, coupled with the relentless stares and whispers of the younger students, left Harry longing for the quieter times he had experienced in the Slytherin common room.

Draco was surprised at how easily the majority of the eighth years settled into their new environment. They had all taken the Headmistress at her word, and no one student was sharing a room with someone from their old house. Draco was secretly glad of this. It meant there was much less scrutiny on him and Harry, and on why they were sharing.

That wasn’t to say that their friendship hadn’t caused a few raised eyebrows. But with the exception of the Weasel, everyone had pretty quickly gotten used to the idea of seeing them together.

Rooming with Harry was something of a mixed blessing. On the one hand, their friendship was going from strength to strength, and it heartened Draco to see that Harry had no intention of dropping him, despite the Weasel’s histrionics.

But on the other hand, being so close to Harry, and yet not having him the way that he truly desired was an exhausting test of Draco’s nerves and self-control. He reminded himself constantly that Harry was straight, that he could never possibly want a relationship to happen between them. But sometimes, he would catch a glimpse of something in those beautiful green eyes, and a spark of hope would flare within him.

Before the war, Draco had been quite the catch in Slytherin house, with girls and boys alike. Not that he really had any interest in females, but sex was sex, and there was a limited supply of willing boys to choose from.

But since his messy break up with Theo almost a year ago, Draco had become very well acquainted with his right hand. In fact, if things went on the way that they were, Draco thought he was in great danger of his wrist seizing up.

If he wasn’t going to have Harry, and he had already decided that their friendship was too important to him to risk the rejection, then he was going to have to relief elsewhere.

Which was why, when Ernie MacMillan began clumsily flirting with him later that week, he didn’t shoot the other boy down as he usually would have, but actually encouraged him.

Hermione watched with dismay when Draco began his flirtation with Ernie MacMillan. It was bad enough that she had Ron’s pigheaded behavior to deal with, without having the fall-out from Harry’s repressed sexuality heaped on her as well. And she knew it was coming.

Hermione wasn’t blind. She saw the way that Harry’s eyes narrowed menacingly every time Ernie came within ten feet of Draco. It amazed her that none of the boys involved seemed aware of the undercurrent of sexual tension.

Merlin only knew what Draco was playing at. He liked Harry, Hermione was sure of that. So what was he doing with Ernie? Shaking her head, Hermione decided it was time for a talk with her best friend.


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“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said defensively, whilst squirming in his seat.

“Oh, come on, Harry. I’ve seen the two of you together. Even a blind man could spot the sexual tension between you.”

Harry flushed. “Really?” He gulped nervously.

“Yes. Now the question remains, what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Harry said firmly. “Draco doesn’t want me, not like that. Even if I was interested.”

“Which you are, Harry. You can at least be honest with yourself.”

“Okay, so maybe I do, a little bit. You’re not freaked out by this? That he’s a boy?”

“Not at all. It’s quite common in the wizarding world apparently.”

“Says who?” Harry questioned dubiously.

“I might have read it in a book,” she admitted.

Harry couldn’t help but smile; that was so like Hermione. “They have books on this kind of thing in the library?”

“Oh yes. There are some very informative ones. I could get them for you, if you want?”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, rather horrified at the idea of his friend checking out books on gay sex for him. “That’s fine, honestly. Thanks for the offer though.”

“Okay, but let me know if you change your mind. Now, getting back to Draco. I think you should talk to him, tell him how you feel.”

“Isn’t that a bit…I don’t know, girly?”

Hermione huffed loudly. “Do you want him or not?”

“I think so,” Harry admitted, his cheeks colouring furiously.

“Well, then you’re going to have to talk to him.”

Harry groaned and flopped backwards on her bed, his hands covering his face. “Ron’s going to have an aneurism when he hears about this. You realise that, don’t you?”

Hermione pulled him to his feet and pushed him in the direction of the door. “You let me worry about Ron. Now go!”

Harry felt lighter than he had in quite some time as he crossed the common room in the direction of his and Draco’s dorm. He had no idea of what he was going to say to the other boy, and was terrified of rejection. But he was going to do it anyway; Draco was worth the risk.

When Harry entered the bedroom, it took a few moments for him to register what he was seeing. Draco was lying back on his bed, shirt undone, trousers off, and Ernie MacMillan was kneeling between his spread thighs, sucking him off.

It was like time stood still. Harry couldn’t look away and he couldn’t move. He was just transfixed by the sight, and struggled desperately to stop the bile from rising in his throat. Grey eyes locked on his and, for a moment, Harry thought that he saw a flash of guilt in them.

“Do you mind?” Draco snapped eventually when Harry showed no sign of movement. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

The sharpness of his voice woke Harry to the reality of the situation. He wanted to run, but if he left the room, who knew what Draco and Ernie would get up to then. He crossed the room to his own bed and flopped down on it.

“Actually, I do mind. This is my room as well, you know.”

Moments later, a slam of the door indicated that Ernie had left the room. Harry rolled over and opened his eyes fearfully. Draco was standing there, naked apart from his open shirt, erect cock jutting forth proudly.

“I’ll be in the bathroom taking care of this,” he snapped. “That is, unless you were planning to finish the job for me.”

Harry rolled over to face the wall, his eyes squeezed shut tight. The sneer in Draco’s voice caused hot tears to trickle down his cheeks.

Things were still tense the next morning.

“What the fuck was all that about last night?” Draco demanded.

I was jealous, Harry thought. But instead, he played dumb. “What was all what about?”

Draco looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before a scowl crossed his face. “Don’t play dumb, it really doesn’t suit you. I want to know why you spoiled the first blow job that I’ve had in months?”

“This is my room as well. Maybe I don’t like it being turned into some kind of…whorehouse.”

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco snarled, filled with a mixture of anger and guilt. Rationally, he knew that he had done nothing to feel guilty about, but it felt like he had betrayed Harry, and the other boy’s behavior wasn’t helping.

The rest of the eighth years took one look at both of their glowering faces that morning and wisely decided to give them a wide berth. The atmosphere at breakfast was tense, to say the least. Ron was unashamedly gleeful when he noticed the tension between them, and was quick to insinuate himself into the seat next to Harry.

“What did the bastard do this time?” he asked, making no effort to lower his tone.

“Nothing, Ron. Just leave it, yeah?” Harry was painfully aware of Draco, who was sitting only a few seats away.

“Yes, Weasel, listen to Potter and mind your own damn business.” Draco’s face was white and pinched.

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry said in a low, warning voice. Draco shot him a ferocious scowl and then turned back to his breakfast.

Later, in Potions, when Harry assumed his usual seat next to Draco, the blond boy got up and pointedly moved to the table in front. Ron crossed the room and eagerly slid into the seat at Harry’s side.

“Got no friends, Malfoy?” he goaded as Professor Slughorn entered the room.

“I’ve still got more friends than your family has money. Tell me, how does it feel to be on the same financial level as a house-elf?”

The heat rose in Ron’s face. “Don’t you dare talk about my family, you worthless shit. At least my mother’s not a drunk.”

Draco was on his feet now, eyes flashing and wand drawn. “At least my mother hasn’t lost her mind. Shouldn’t yours be locked up in St Mungo’s by now?”

Ron’s wand was out now and Harry hastily got to his feet and stood between them.

“Get out of the way, Harry.” Draco’s voice trembled with rage. “I don’t want to hex you, but I will if you don’t move.”


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“This is all your fault, I hope you know,” Draco muttered to Harry as they waited for Professor McGonagall inside her office.

“My fault?” Harry spluttered. “You’re the one who hexed me.”

“Yeah, well you made me angry.”

“I was just trying to stop you and Ron from killing each other.”

“Gentlemen,” Professor McGonagall acknowledged as she swept into the room. Taking a seat behind the desk, she eyed them severely.

“I must admit that I’m very surprised to see the two of you in here. I foolishly believed that you had put this childish behaviour behind you. Do either of you have anything to say?”

Both boys stared dumbly at their feet.

“Very well. You will both serve a week of detention with Mr. Filch.” The Headmistress suppressed a smile at the twin looks of horror that came her way. “I will not tolerate that kind of behaviour in this school. Now, I have a meeting to attend with the house heads, but I want you two to remain here until you have resolved whatever issue caused this morning’s outburst.”

Hearing the door closer behind her, Harry turned to Draco. “What do we do now?” he asked helplessly.

“What we do now, Harry, is what the good professor suggested. We talk.”

“About what?” Harry asked, a slight quiver in his voice betraying his nerves.

“About what’s really bothering you,” Draco drawled.

“There’s nothing bothering me. You’re the one who’s been acting funny.”

Draco shook his head and began to walk towards him. Harry, in turn, began backing away warily, until the back of his thighs hit the edge of the desk and he could go no further.

“I thought to start with that it was a homophobic thing, and that you were disgusted by what you saw.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “I don’t care that you’re gay.”

“Oh, I think you do, Harry. I think you care a lot.” There was a predatory gleam in Draco’s eyes and Harry gulped nervously.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, Harry, if it’s not the fact of what I was doing that’s bothering you, then the only other thing it can be, is who I was doing it with. I think that you’re jealous.”

Harry just gaped wordlessly as Draco’s eyes burned intently into his. “I think that the reason you didn’t leave the room last night was because you wished that you were the one on your knees sucking my cock, instead of Ernie.”

“I didn’t…I mean, I don’t…” Harry stammered.

“Shh.” Draco laid a finger gently across Harry’s lips. “Let me just try something.” He brought both his hands up to cup Harry’s face and stepped closer until their bodies were flush against each other.

“W-What are-“

Harry never finished the sentence, as Draco’s lips met with his own, sucking and nibbling so gently that a whimper escaped his throat.

Draco’s hands then slid down to Harry’s waist, and he pushed Harry back further ‘till he was half sprawled on the Headmistress’s desk. As Draco ground against him, Harry’s hands scrabbled for purchase on the desk, sending piles of paperwork scattering over the floor. Not that either boy noticed, or cared for that matter.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry groaned.

“Not in here. I doubt that the Headmistress would appreciate it.” Draco hooked his hands under Harry’s thighs and lifted his legs until they settled firmly around his waist.

“Don’t stop,” Harry gasped as the delicious friction intensified, sending shoots of pleasure through his body.

“Oh, I have no intention of stopping,” Draco replied huskily. “I’m never letting you go now.”

“For the love of all that is decent! Mr. Malfoy, put Potter down this instant!”

The two boys pulled apart in surprise at the interruption and turned to face the portrait of their old Potions master. Professor Snape had both of his hands clamped firmly to his eyes, but even then it was still possible to tell that he was scowling fiercely.

“Oh, come now, Severus. Young love is a wonderful thing.” Harry couldn’t help but smile at the twinkling blue eyes of Professor Dumbledore, as he beamed down at them from his ornate frame.

Professor Snape removed his hands and glared at his old Headmaster, before turning to face Draco. “I’m very disappointed in you, Mr. Malfoy. A Slytherin consorting with a Gryffindor; it’s unthinkable. It can’t be allowed to happen.”

“I rather think that it just did, Severus. Right there on Minerva’s desk.”

Harry blushed at this and tried to hide his face in the crook of Draco’s neck. Professor Snape flounced out of his portrait, muttering something about Hufflepuff behavior.

“I can’t believe we just got caught by Professor Snape,” Draco chuckled.

“I can’t believe you just kissed me,” Harry replied, somewhat dazedly.

“Is that a bad thing?” Draco asked, pulling back with a worried expression on his face.

Harry smiled tentatively and shook his head. “No,” he replied softly. “Not bad at all.”

Just as Draco leaned forward to capture Harry’s lips again, a discreet cough interrupted them. “Forgive the intrusion, boys. But I think that perhaps it would be best if you tidied up and continued this elsewhere.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled almost blindingly at them.

Harry and Draco looked at the scattered paperwork as if wondering how it had got where it was. They quickly tidied up and hurried to the door, eager to continue the exploration of their new relationship. They were halfway out of the door, when Professor Dumbledore spoke again.

“It’s good to see you smiling again, both of you.”


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“Well, I’ve got to say that I didn’t see that one coming,” Ginny said as she leant back on her arms and looked out over the lake. “Are you sure?”

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said softly. “I’m not sure if I’m gay, or bisexual, or if it’s just Draco that I like. But I know that he’s who I want. I’m sorry,” he added gently.

“You don’t have to apologise, Harry. It’s not like it’s something you can help. I’m just glad that you felt you could tell me.”

“Well, I thought that I owed it to you,” he explained. “I know that when we broke up, the implication was that we would get back together once the war was over.”

Ginny shook her head. “Things change. People change. I understand that. But I have to ask. Malfoy, Harry? Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” Harry replied emphatically. “I know he was a complete git to us in the past, but he’s changed. He really has. If you just gave him a chance, you’d like him.”

“I trust you,” Ginny said, clambering to her feet and dusting off her robes. “If you say he’s not a git anymore, then I’ll take your word for it. I’ll even try to get to know him. You deserve to be happy, and anyone who can make you smile like that, is okay in my book.”

Harry stood up and dusted himself off. He pulled her into a quick, warm embrace. “Thanks, Gin. That means a lot.”

“I can see the attraction, I suppose,” she considered. “Malfoy is kind of hot, if you think about it.”

“I do think about it, a lot. But you shouldn’t be, so stop it!”

Ginny giggled. “I’m just looking, don’t worry. Besides, I’m obviously not his type.”

Harry smiled in return, before his expression turned serious. “You won’t say anything yet, will you? Draco doesn’t want everyone to know about us yet.”

Ginny nodded. “I won’t say a word. There is one condition on my silence, though.”

“What?” Harry asked nervously.

“When you tell Ron, I want a front row seat.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at this. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll need to be nearby to hear his reaction,” he replied, linking his arm through hers. “Come on, I’ll walk you back up to the castle.


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Hermione could tell that something had changed between them the moment she saw Harry and Draco again. It was something in the shy, almost adoring looks that Harry sent in Draco’s direction when he thought the other boy wasn’t looking, or the way that Draco touched Harry at every available opportunity. Not necessarily in a sexual way, just innocent touches that showed, to anyone who cared to look, the greater level of intimacy between the two boys.

She knocked gently on their door, intent on cornering Harry and finding out all the gossip.

When she entered the room, only Draco was in residence. The blond was lying back on his bed, his long legs clad in dark, denim jeans; his white shirt was open at the neck, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his smooth, almost luminescent skin. His white-blond hair hung loose around his face, falling forward into his eyes, giving him a younger air.

At that moment, Hermione could totally see what Harry saw in Draco. He had a lean grace that really was quite seductive, and when relaxed like this, retained an air of innocence that was quite at odds with his public persona.

“Hi, Draco, is Harry not about?”

Draco shook his head, silken strands of his hair glinting in the light. “He went up to Gryffindor tower to find the littlest Weasley. I’m here, though. Won’t I do?” He patted the mattress at the side of him invitingly.

Hermione plopped down on the bed and smiled sheepishly; she wasn‘t sure how receptive Draco would be to her inquiries.

“I just wanted a chat really. We don’t get the time to talk much anymore.” She paused here and a sly smile crept over her face. “How are things with you and Harry? You seem to have sorted that argument out now?”

Draco snorted. “Stop fishing, Granger. You might be the smartest witch in the school, but you have all the subtlety of a Confunded troll.”

“What?” Hermione protested weakly.

“Harry said you would be breaking your neck to find out what was going on between us.”

“So there is something going on?”

“Maybe.”

Hermione grabbed the nearest pillow and swung it at him. “Draco,” she wailed plaintively.

Draco smoothed his ruffled hair. “This is war you realise?”

Before he had chance to retaliate, the door opened and Harry entered. “How did it go?” Draco asked instantly.

Harry shot a meaningful glance in Hermione’s direction and gave a non-committal shrug.

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry,” she huffed. “I’m not blind. I knew before you two did.”

“W-W-What?” Harry spluttered.

“Well, you’re not exactly subtle.”

“She’s right, you know,” Draco added, reaching out for Harry’s hand and pulling him down beside him on the bed. “You Gryffindors are not renowned for your subtlety.”

Harry shot him a mock glare. “Is nothing private in this place?” he complained.

“Well, it’s your fault.”

Harry gave him an outraged look, but Draco ignored it and continued on. “You had to make friends with the bookworm here; she was bound to figure it out. What you need are stupid friends who do your bidding without question.”

The names of Crabbe and Goyle hung unspoken in the air, but Harry could see the flicker of sadness on his boyfriend’s face. He reached over and laced their fingers together, squeezing gently.

Hermione let out a tiny squeal at this outward display of affection. “You two really are adorable.”

A pillow launched across the bed and connected directly with her face. “There will be no squealing in this room, Granger. Out. Now.”

Hermione returned the pillow with interest and then scampered out of the room quickly before either boy could retaliate.


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Over the next few weeks, Draco found it increasingly difficult to hide his relationship with Harry. He couldn’t really complain though, not when it had been his idea in the first place.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed of what he felt, or of who he was with. But Draco was keenly aware of the storm that their relationship would kick up and he wanted to spare Harry that for as long as possible.

It wouldn’t just be the Weasel voicing his opinion, either. Harry was the Boy Who Lived; he was considered public property, and Draco doubted that there was a person in the wizarding world who didn’t think they had the right to know, and comment on, every last detail of their Saviour’s life.

As much as he wanted to protect himself from the inevitable public scrutiny, Draco wanted to protect Harry more. He deserved the chance to be able to call his life his own. Harry hated the press and their constant intrusion into his life; Draco knew this much, and he wanted to preserve their illusion of privacy for as long as was humanly possible.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that this cloak of secrecy was delaying the inevitable Howlers that would come winging his way from Azkaban, once his father had found out.

It was difficult to decide who’s reaction would be more vitriolic, Ron Weasley or his father. Draco decided that it would probably be the Weasel, but only because Lucius was locked in a prison somewhere in the middle of the North Sea.

Looking down at Harry, curled up next to him in bed, Draco couldn’t help but smile, and he pulled his sleeping boyfriend closer to him. Waking up together like this was something that Draco hadn’t experienced with any of his previous relationships or conquests.

Harry had quickly dismissed the idea of them maintaining separate beds. Draco had planned to protest that he needed his space, but the first time that he felt Harry’s warm body slide under the covers and wrap around him, he couldn’t even remember what his objections had been.

Draco had a feeling that he should be horrified by this; Malfoy’s were not snugglers. His parents had continued with separate bedrooms throughout their marriage. But obviously no Malfoy had ever been to bed with a Potter before. Harry’s cuddles had quickly become addictive, and if that made him a Hufflepuff, then so be it.


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Despite his desire to keep their relationship secret, Draco still delighted in teasing Harry with discreet touches at the most inopportune of moments.

Harry was trying his best to concentrate on Professor McGonagall’s lecture; Transfiguration was not an easy subject and required all of his focus. He lifted his hand and batted at the insect that was fluttering against his neck. The irritation stopped for a brief moment before resuming relentlessly.

Shifting in his seat, Harry turned to find the source of the irritation. What he found, was not an insect, but Draco, sat next to him, using the most ridiculously long quill ever seen. The end of which, had been tickling Harry’s neck.

Draco scratched away at his parchment with such an air of innocence that Harry just knew he was faking it. Generally speaking, the more innocent Draco looked, the guiltier he was. Turning his attention back to the class, Harry felt the sensation resume instantly. Knowing what it was now, he allowed himself to relax into the sensation.

It actually felt quite nice, he realised. The soft feather trailed, teasingly, along his jaw line, skimmed the sensitive skin of his throat, and then traced his neck right down to where his collarbone was visible through his open-necked shirt.

A faint shiver ran through his body at this teasing sensation. In fact, Harry reflected, there was something strangely erotic about it. Goosebumps sprang up on his skin and he was forced to shift in his seat to ease the growing tightness in his trousers.

It only got more torturous for him when Draco slid a hand onto his thigh and trailed it all the way up until it was cupping his burgeoning erection.

“I knew you’d like my new quill,” Draco murmured teasingly. He gave Harry’s cock a gently squeeze, which caused his boyfriend to give a tiny, desperate thrust against his hand.

“Not now, Harry,” he whispered, his hand slowly sliding away.

Harry whimpered softly in protest at the loss and glared meaningfully at the blond.

“Later,” Draco promised, and the gleam in his eye was enough to send shivers through Harry’s body.


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“Ron, do you have a minute? I need to talk to you?

“Sounds serious, mate,” Ron said, following Harry into his room. The relief on his face was evident when he realised that Draco was not in residence.

“It is, sort of,” Harry replied, sitting on the edge of his bed and gesturing for Ron to do the same. “It’s not bad, but I don’t think you’ll like it very much.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Just tell me,” he said curtly.

Harry chewed his lip nervously, wondering if it was too late to change his mind. Draco hadn’t wanted him to tell Ron just yet, but Harry had insisted. Right now, he was wishing he had listened to his boyfriend.

“I’m gay,” he blurted out suddenly.

Ron frowned for a moment, but then his face cleared. “Merlin, Harry! You really had me worried for a minute.” His posture relaxed instantly and he leaned back on his hands. “But why would you think that I’d mind that? Unless… you don’t have a thing about me, do you?”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh, despite his nervousness. “No. Redheads aren’t my type.”

Ron sighed in relief. “So it’s no good me trying to set you up with Charlie then?”

“Charlie’s gay?”

“Yep, and single too. But I suppose he is a little old for you.”

“And my ex-girlfriend’s brother,” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah, I suppose you have a point. But, honestly, I don’t care that you’re gay. It’s not that big a deal, really.”

“Thanks, Ron. It’s just…Well, there’s a lot of prejudice against gays in the Muggle world and I wasn’t sure how you would react. It’s not like it’s something we’ve ever discussed.”

Ron waved his concerns aside. “There’s something else though, isn’t there?” he asked with unusual perceptiveness. “Are you with someone? That’s it, isn’t it? Who is it? I hear that Ernie MacMillan likes boys. He’s not bad looking, if you-“

“Ron, stop it. It’s not Ernie.”

“Well, who is it then? Merlin, I didn’t know there were so many gay boys in our year.”

Ron fell silent and just looked at him expectantly. Harry took a deep breath and summoned every last ounce of his Gryffindor courage.

“It’s Draco.”

“Malfoy?”

“Unless you know another one,” Harry replied in a half-hearted attempt at humour.

Ron sat in stunned silence, his mouth gaping open. There was no explosion, no fireworks, and it just left Harry confused; this was not the reaction he’d been expecting at all.

“Ron,” he said tentatively. “Are you okay?”

Ron got up abruptly and when he looked at Harry, his expression was cold. “I can’t talk about this with you. I’ll end up saying something that will destroy our friendship. If you already haven’t,” he added.

“Come on,” Harry protested. “That’s not fair. It’s not like I did it on purpose. I can’t help who I…”

“Love?” Ron spat. “Is that what you were going to say? Just listen to yourself. Do you even remember half of the things he’s done?”

“Yes, of course I do. But I also know that’s not who he is anymore.”

“So he says.”

“So I know. Can’t you just trust me?”

“I did,” Ron replied bitterly. “Look how you repaid it.”

“This isn’t personal, Ron. I didn’t set out to upset you.”

“How can it not be personal?” Ron snarled, stalking closer to Harry until he was only inches away from his face. “Do you remember Ginny nearly dying in the Chamber of Secrets?”

Harry’s own temper flared at this. “Of course I remember,” he replied hotly. “I’m hardly likely to forget it. But that was Lucius; Draco was just a child then.”

“Alright, well, what about Bill then? He still has the scars on his face from Greyback. That little shit let a werewolf loose in a school full of kids.”

“He didn’t know,” Harry protested.

“He knew he was letting Death Eaters in. That’s bad enough. What about Katie Bell? What about me? I nearly died from that poisoned mead. Do you even think about that when you’re doing Merlin knows what with him?”

Harry felt his anger subside at this and he slumped down onto his bed, cradling his head in his hands. “I haven’t forgotten any of it. But you were at his trial, Ron. You heard what happened to him.”

“I heard that he was a spineless little fuck who deserved to be locked up with that bastard father of his.”

“That’s not true,” Harry said wearily. “You don’t know. You didn’t see him that night on the Astronomy Tower, or when Voldemort was forcing him to torture people. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t have a choice.”

Ron’s face set in a grim expression. “You won’t persuade me, so you may as well give up now.” He turned and headed towards the door.

“I can’t help who I care about,” Harry said desperately.

Ron spun on his heel and fixed him with an icy glare. “You said you cared about us. We treated you like part of our family and this is how you repay us? Thanks, Harry. Thanks a lot.”

Harry watched his best friend storm from the room with a bleak expression on his face and an aching pain in his chest.

Watching Ron walk away from him never got any easier, however many times it happened. But there was a sickening sensation in Harry’s stomach that told him there was no going back this time. He wouldn’t choose between them, and he rather suspected that if Ron had forced the issue, then he would have lost anyway.

He couldn’t give Draco up now, not for anyone. Not for Ron, or the Weasleys, not even if the Minister for Magic himself commanded it. Harry had lived his life for other people for too long. For once, he was going to put himself first.

But none of this made it any easier to watch as his oldest friendship shattered at his feet.

When Draco slid into bed that night, Harry instantly crawled into his open arms. They hadn’t really discussed the contents of his conversation with Ron, but Draco could tell from the expression in Harry’s eyes what the outcome of it had been.

Draco raked his fingers through the messy head of hair that was currently nestled against his chest. He could feel the tension radiating from Harry’s body.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked, wanting nothing more than to make things better.

“I told you, I’m okay,” Harry replied unconvincingly.

Harry,” Draco began patiently. “You’re not okay. How can you be? We both know how I feel about Weasley, but for some strange reason, you seem to like the ginger prat.”

Harry gave Draco’s ribs a warning dig with his elbow. “Don’t be horrible,” he chided.

“Don’t be horrible?” Draco’s tone was incredulous. “So he can say Merlin knows what and get you in this state, but I can’t even pass comment on his hideous hair?”

“There’s no point in getting upset over it. He won’t budge and there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s taking it like some kind of personal betrayal. It would almost have been better if he’d just got angry and hit me.”

“He better bloody not,” Draco growled. “He so much as lays a finger on you and they’ll be finding pieces of him for weeks to come.”

Harry nuzzled closer to his boyfriend’s warm body and pressed a soft kiss to his bare chest. “My hero,” he murmured sleepily.

“Well, it’s about time you let someone fight for you, instead of the other way round. Besides, I think I make rather a dashing hero.”

When he got no response, Draco looked down and saw that Harry was sleeping peacefully, all the tension gone from his face. He would have loved nothing more than to find the Weasel and hex him into next week for upsetting Harry, but he knew that his boyfriend would not thank him for it.

Things were going so well for the two of them. Draco was constantly amazed at how easily the two of them had gone from adversaries to lovers in such a short space of time. When he thought back on all the wasted years, the time spent fighting each other when they could have been doing something much more enjoyable, he wanted to go back in time and kick some serious sense into his eleven year old self.

Draco could see how much the rift with Weasley was hurting Harry, and as much as he inwardly rejoiced at the end of a friendship that had caused him so much jealousy, he couldn’t bear to see his boyfriend unhappy. So, much against his better judgment, he decided to talk to Hermione; if anyone could make the Weasel see sense, then it was her. And failing that, then Draco was just going to have to talk to him himself.