Chapter 5 - chapter seventeen

Harry sat cross-legged on a newly added windowsill of the strange and secret room he had discovered, his journal open in his lap. A lone candle beside him flickered, casting shadows along the rough stone walls, but Harry barely noticed. His hand, now healed but still aching from the words Umbridge had carved into his skin, hovered over the parchment. The tip of his quill dripped ink onto the page as he hesitated.

What was he even supposed to write?

That he hated Umbridge? That he wanted her gone more than anything? That the way she twisted his parents' deaths into a punishment, into a lesson, made something dark and furious coil inside him? He could still feel the weight of her sickly sweet voice pressing down on him, the way she had giggled as he bled onto the parchment.

He exhaled sharply and pressed the quill to the page.

September 5th, 1995

I can still feel the cuts on my hand, even though Draco healed them. Umbridge made me copy articles about my parents' murder last night. Said it would be 'enlightening.' She wanted me to relive it, wanted me to feel small. I think she thought it would break me.

It didn't.

She doesn't understand that I am made of broken things. That I have stitched myself back together so many times, her pathetic little quill means nothing. I survived a war before I could even speak. Survived a childhood that was never meant to be mine. Survived being me in a world that doesn't know what to do with me. I'm surviving even now, trying to understand who I am and where I come from. 

She can't break me. She doesn't get to win. Not her. 

But it still burns. Not just my hand—my magic.

I can feel it more than before, like something alive under my skin, humming, buzzing, waiting. The fire inside me isn't just because of the phoenix thing, I think. It's more intense than it already was. When I get angry, it flares up, curling around my ribs, crawling up my throat. It's sort of like my magic is growing and it's being fueled by the phoenix flames inside. I don't know what to do with it. I don't know if I should be afraid of it. 

Luna says I shouldn't be. That I was meant to be this way. That I'm something ancient, something the magical world tried to forget. A heretic, in their words. But she says it like it's a blessing, not a curse.

And if that wasn't enough to process, apparently she and I are a dyad.

I don't think I really understand what that means yet. Only that our magic is connected, that it always has been. That the moment we met, it was inevitable. A balance, she said. Two halves of something whole. Every heretic has a dyad, she says. 

I should be scared. It sounds like the kind of thing people would want to abuse, or control. But it's Luna, so I'm not. I don't think she'd ever betray me. I know I would never betray her. It's like a fact that's been woven into my very being, I know she'd never purposely hurt me and the same goes for her. 

And then there's… Draco.

I kissed Draco Malfoy. Many times.

I don't know what's worse—that I did it, or that he kissed me back. That he wanted to.

Or maybe what's worse is that I want to do it again, constantly. And I plan on doing it too.

Harry lifted the quill, staring at the words he had written. The confession sat heavy on the page, stark and undeniable in dark ink. He had kissed Draco. He had felt the warmth of his lips, the way he had frozen for half a second before melting into it, the way Draco's hands had curled into Harry's robes like he didn't want to let go.

It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't something he regretted.

And yet, it scared him.

Because Draco was… Draco. He was sharp edges and careful masks, sarcasm wielded like armor, but under all of that, there was something else. Something real. Something Harry had glimpsed in the way Draco had held his hand, in the moments they've shared, in the way he had whispered, You don't have to do this alone.

Harry let out a slow breath and closed the journal, tracing his fingers over the cover. He had to be careful. If anyone found out—if Umbridge or Snape or Merlin forbid, anyone besides Luna—found out, it wouldn't just be a problem. It would be a disaster.

But for now, in the quiet of this room, with the candle flickering beside him, he let himself smile. Because, despite everything, despite the pain and the nightmares and the war that loomed overhead—

Something felt right. 

He thought more on the journal, his fingers rubbing the soft leather. Hermione had given him it, and yet they weren't talking now. That felt the farthest from right, it felt horrible. He missed her. He missed Ron. 

Harry sighed and let his head drop back against the cool stone of the windowsill. The silence of the hidden room pressed around him, broken only by the quiet flicker of the candle's flame and the faint scratch of his own breathing. His fingers tightened around the edges of the journal, the leather warm under his touch.

Maybe he should just apologize. Maybe that would fix things.

But what if it didn't?

What if it was too late?

What if he had pushed too hard, spoken too cruelly, and Ron and Hermione had finally had enough?

The thought twisted in his chest, sharp and suffocating. They had been through so much together—too much—but this year was different. Everything felt different. The distance between them stretched wider with each passing day, filled with misunderstandings and words left unsaid.

And then there was Draco.

Harry exhaled through his nose and scrubbed a hand over his face. Draco.

If anyone had told him even three months ago that he'd be kissing Draco Malfoy in an abandoned classroom, writing about it in his journal like some lovesick fool, he would have hexed them. But now, it was reality.

And Merlin help him, he didn't want it to stop.

The bond between them hummed beneath his skin, a low, steady warmth that hadn't left him since that night in the necromancy classroom. Harry wasn't stupid—he knew it wasn't normal to feel someone else's magic like this, to recognize its shape and weight in the air like a second heartbeat. But when Draco touched him, when their fingers brushed, when their lips met—it felt like everything in him settled.

It felt right.

And that was terrifying.

Harry pushed the journal aside and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against his knees. His entire life was a storm of chaos, and yet, here he was, choosing to add more. Choosing to walk straight into the unknown.

And yet…

Draco had kissed him back.

Not just once.

Not even twice.

Three times.

Harry smiled despite himself, the memory flickering through his mind like a Patronus—bright, untouchable. He could still feel the ghost of Draco's fingers in his hair, the way he had sighed against Harry's lips like he never wanted to stop.

Like he had been waiting for this, too.

Maybe they were both idiots.

Maybe it didn't matter.

Did it even matter? 

What would Hermione and Ron say if they could see him right now?

The thought sent a cold shiver through Harry's chest, dousing the warmth that had settled there moments ago. He clenched his fingers around the journal, opening it back up and staring at the words he'd just written.

Hermione would be analytical about it, probably. She'd tilt her head, frown in that thoughtful way she did when she was solving a particularly difficult problem, and ask why. Why Malfoy? What changed? Are you sure this isn't a mistake? Are you sure you can trust him?

Ron, though… Harry wasn't sure how Ron would react. Not just to the fact that Harry had kissed Draco Malfoy, but to the fact that Harry hadn't told him. He could already imagine the betrayal in his expression, the frustration laced in his voice. How long, mate? How long were you keeping this from us?

And the truth was—he didn't know how to answer that.

Because it wasn't just about Draco. It was about everything.

His magic was changing. His bond with Luna, the revelation that they were something ancient—heretics. The Phoenix under his skin, the way the flame reacted when he was angry, the way it coiled around his insides like a living thing. And then there was the weight of Umbridge, of the world pressing down on him, and somehow, in the midst of all that—Draco had happened.

It wasn't something he planned.

But it wasn't something he regretted, either.

Harry exhaled sharply, tapping the tip of his quill against the page. Maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe it was simpler than he was making it out to be.

Maybe, when he kissed Draco, he just felt good for the first time in weeks, not stressed or worried about anything. Maybe that was enough.

And yet, deep down, he knew it wasn't just that.

The blood bond between them wasn't normal. Not just the way their magic recognized each other, but the way Draco looked at him—like Harry wasn't some puzzle to be solved or a problem to be fixed. Draco saw him, really saw him, and chose him anyway.

Harry swallowed hard, shaking his head.

It didn't matter what Ron and Hermione would think—not yet. He had bigger things to worry about. He needed to fix things with them first, before he could even consider telling them about Draco.

One crisis at a time.

He pressed the quill to the parchment again.

I miss them. Ron and Hermione. I hate how easy it is to pretend I don't. I hate that I don't know how to fix it. I hate that I keep making things worse. 

Maybe I'll talk to them today.. Or the next day. Soon. I have to. I can't keep doing this.

Harry shut the journal again with a quiet thump, rubbing a hand over his face. His head ached from thinking too much, from overanalyzing every little thing.

What he needed was sleep. 

What he got instead, was a tempus charm alerting him that it was time for morning classes to start. 

One moment at a time, he reminded himself. One day at a time. 

——

"Why exactly are we meditating, Luna?" Harry asked during lunch, sitting criss cross on the stone floor of the Hogwarts kitchen, his eyes closed tight. 

Luna hummed, the soft rustle of her robes the only sound as she settled across from him. "Because you need to listen," She said simply.

Harry cracked one eye open. "Listen to what, exactly? The house-elves? Because I can already hear them scurrying around."

Luna shook her head, her pale hair swaying like a wisp of moonlight. "Not them," She said, reaching forward to poke him. "To magic as a whole. You haven't been paying much attention to it, you've only recently realized that you can feel and sense magic in ways most people can't. You need to practice so it can get easier." 

Harry frowned, shifting uncomfortably on the cold stone. "I do pay attention," He muttered. "I feel things, I notice them. But it's—" He hesitated, struggling to put it into words. "It's like a noise I can't turn off, and I don't know how to separate one thing from another."

Luna nodded, completely unsurprised. "That's because you're trying to listen with your mind." She tapped his chest again, right over his heart. "Magic doesn't work like that. You have to feel it. Let it flow, not force it."

Harry let out a slow breath, closing his eyes again. It's like what Lavender had said about mind magicks, you had to relax yourself first. The bond with Luna pulsed between them, familiar and steady, but she was right—there was so much more beneath it. Magic was alive. It curled through Hogwarts like unseen roots, thick in the air, humming in the walls. It was in the way the torches flickered without wind, in the soft whisper of the castle shifting its staircases, in the way the very air changed when someone powerful walked into the room.

And then there was his own.

He focused inward, and there it was—that flickering ember inside him, waiting. His magic had always been powerful, but now it felt different, like a caged fire, like it was waiting for something. He had been holding it back. Out of fear? Out of instinct? He wasn't sure. 

Luna's voice cut through his thoughts. "You need to stop thinking of it as something separate from you."

Harry exhaled, trying again.

The fire in his core flared—not dangerously, but like a light finally being acknowledged. And in that moment, he felt it clearly. He could smell it, taste it on his tongue. 

It wasn't just magic. It wasn't just power.

It was him, entwined with something else that he could recognize instantly. 

And that realization sent a shiver down his spine.

His magic wasn't something to be controlled like a wand or tamed like a wild beast—it was a limb, a heartbeat, an extension of himself. It had always been there, waiting for him to trust it.

His chest tightened, and suddenly, he knew something—instinctively, in the way he sometimes knew when danger was coming, in the way he had always known how to move in a duel without thinking.

He could command it. He didn't have to fight it.

Slowly, carefully, he let out a breath and reached.

The unlit candles around the kitchen flared without warning, the flames stretching higher for a brief second before settling. A ripple of warmth passed through the air, and even Luna tilted her head, pleased.

"There you go," She murmured, eyes gleaming with something knowing. "Now do you see?"

Harry swallowed, opening his eyes again. His skin tingled, his magic thrumming like a quiet pulse under his skin.

"I think," He said slowly, "I do."

Luna grinned. "Good. Because I think you'll need it."

Harry frowned. "Need it for what?"

But Luna only smiled. "Oh, you'll see," She said airily. "Soon, I think."

Harry groaned. "Luna."

She giggled, her laugh like bells. "It's nothing bad, I promise." 

"Can't I get at least a small hint?" Harry sighed, he'd been running blind most of his life, he'd actually like it if he could have some forewarning now and again. 

"That study group of yours is going to turn out a lot bigger than you've planned for." Luna relented, giving Harry a small glimpse into his future. 

Harry blinked, processing her words. "Bigger?" He echoed. "How much bigger?"

Luna hummed, tilting her head as though listening to something only she could hear. "Mm, well," She said dreamily, "bigger in numbers, yes, but also in meaning. You're not just making a study group, Harry. You're making something people will believe in."

That sent an uncomfortable but not unwelcome shiver down his spine.

Harry exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just wanted to help people prepare for OWLs and deal with Umbridge's useless teaching."

Luna smiled knowingly. "And yet, things like this never stay small, do they?"

Harry wanted to argue, but she had a point. Nothing in his life ever seemed to stay small. And now, this—this was becoming something else entirely.

"Great," He muttered. "Another thing I didn't ask for."

Luna only giggled. "But this time, you did ask for it. You just didn't realize it."

Harry frowned, but before he could press her further, the large kitchen doors creaked open, and a familiar voice interrupted them.

"There you are, Potter."

Harry tensed instinctively before recognizing the smooth, drawling tone. Draco. Cue the butterflies. 

Luna didn't even turn, already smiling. "Hello, cousin."

Harry almost doubled over. Cousin?! Luna and Draco were cousins?!

Draco stepped into the warm glow of the kitchen, his gaze flicking between them. His eyes lingered on the candles—on the way they were still burning a little too brightly. He arched a single pale eyebrow.

"Something you'd like to tell me?" He asked.

Harry shot a look at Luna, who just hummed innocently and stood up, dusting off her robes. "I think I'll leave you two alone," She announced airily. "You have things to discuss, after all."

Harry barely had time to glare at her before she was already skipping toward the door, pausing just long enough to smile at Draco. "Be nice," She told him.

Draco scoffed. "I am nice."

Luna only giggled again and slipped out, leaving them alone.

Harry turned to Draco, still reeling from what Luna had just casually dropped like it wasn't the most earth-shattering revelation.

"Cousin?" He repeated, staring at Draco like he had grown an extra head, standing slowly. "You and Luna are cousins?"

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes like this was a conversation he had endured before. "Yes, Potter, I do have family outside of the Malfoy name. Shocking, isn't it?"

Harry just gaped at him. "How—how did I not know this?"

Draco smirked. "Because you never asked."

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. Fair point. But then again, he hadn't been aware enough to even come up with the question.. they do have a similar hair color, don't they?

"Wait." Harry frowned, realization dawning. "If she's your cousin, then that means—" He hesitated. He had never heard of a Lovegood-Malfoy connection. The Malfoys prided themselves on their family tree—pure, prestigious, unbroken. He didn't know much about the Lovegood's, but he doubted they were pure enough for the Malfoy's. Or was it the other way around? Were the Lovegood's too pure for the Malfoy's? Names and all that still confused him about the wizarding world. What made a name so powerful anyways? 

Draco's smirk dimmed, and his expression turned unreadable. He crossed his arms and leaned against one of the kitchen counters, his fingers tapping absently against his sleeve. "Luna's father—Xenophilius—was my father's little brother."

Harry's jaw dropped, his eyes widening. He didn't know that at all, couldn't have suspected it even. "Lucius has a brother?"

"Had." Draco's voice was even, but there was an edge to it. "As far as the Malfoy family is concerned, he doesn't exist. He was cast out after he turned 17."

Harry blinked. "Why?"

Draco exhaled, gaze flicking toward the doorway Luna had just disappeared through. "He never fit in. Too… odd. Too free-thinking. My grandfather tolerated it until he graduated, but then he refused to follow the expectations laid out for him. Married a woman he loved instead of a 'proper' match, started publishing 'nonsense' instead of going into politics or finance." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Father called it a 'waste of a good name. Uncle Xen started using my grandmother's maiden name after that." 

Harry thought about Xenophilius Lovegood, knowing only a little about him from what Luna has shared, and tried to picture him as a Malfoy. It was almost impossible. "So they disowned him?"

Draco nodded. "Struck him from the family records. We were never allowed to talk about him. I only met Luna a handful of times before Hogwarts thanks to Mother, before Lucius forbade it." His gaze softened slightly. "She was always strange, but… not in a bad way."

Harry found himself staring. "So, you don't—?"

"Hate her?" Draco rolled his eyes, sighing. "No, Potter. I never hated Luna. And I'm glad you two are friends."

That caught Harry off guard. "You are?"

Draco scoffed. "Oh, don't look so surprised. If anyone needs a bit of Lovegood wisdom in their life, it's you."

Harry huffed, shaking his head, but he couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. It was strange—he hadn't expected Draco to be happy about him and Luna growing closer.

Still, there was something else lingering in his mind. "So… if your family disowned Xenophilius, does that mean you don't know what Luna and I are?"

Draco's brows pulled together. "What you are?"

Harry hesitated, then decided to just say it. "We're heretics."

Draco blinked. "You're what?"

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not what it sounds like. It's not—evil or anything like that. It just means that… our magic is different. Ancient. The magical world erased a lot of knowledge about people like us, but we're not the first."

Draco stared at him, his expression unreadable. "And you're just… casually telling me this?"

Harry shrugged. "I trust you, Luna clearly trusts you too. And if we're going to be—" He hesitated. "Whatever we are now… I figured you should know. You know everything else about me. You already know about Lucrezia and her prophecy, this is just another piece of that. Luna's the other descendant and the whole heretics thing is what connects us." 

Draco was quiet for a long moment, his expression shifting between curiosity and something more guarded. Harry watched as he processed the information, his sharp eyes flickering with thought.

Then, to Harry's surprise, Draco let out a short laugh.

"Well, that explains a lot."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Draco smirked, though there was a hint of something softer behind it. "You, Potter. You've always been an anomaly. And Luna—she's like a walking riddle. It makes sense that the two of you are something rare and nearly forgotten." He tilted his head, watching Harry closely. "Heretics, though? You're sure that's what you are?"

Harry exhaled. "That's what Luna says. She knows more about it than I do—her mum was one too, and so was mine. Something about how we're… tied to magic differently than others. I still don't understand all of it."

Draco hummed, thoughtful. "And no one else knows?"

"Just us," Harry confirmed. "And now you."

Draco's smirk widened just a fraction, something pleased settling into his features. "So I'm the only outsider you trust with this?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't make it weird, Malfoy."

Draco chuckled. "I'm not. Just… surprised, I suppose. You do realize I could be the worst person to trust with something like this, don't you?"

Harry shrugged. "If you were going to use it against me, you would have already."

That made Draco pause, his smirk faltering for just a second. He didn't argue, though.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching Harry with a look that was far too intense for the Hogwarts kitchen. "You said it connects you and Luna. How?"

Harry hesitated. "We're a Dyad. Our magic is linked. Always has been."

Draco's brows lifted and furrowed, looking like he did during classes when he really needed to concentrate. "And that means…?"

"I'm still figuring that out," Harry admitted. "Luna calls it a balance. Says every heretic has a dyad, someone whose magic complements their own. Like—two halves of something whole."

Draco was silent for a moment before letting out a breath. "Alright, that's… a lot. But I'll admit, I'm intrigued." His lips quirked. "Just when I think I've figured you out, you go and add another layer of mystery."

Harry huffed. "Yeah, well, you're not exactly simple either, Malfoy."

Draco's smirk returned, but it was different now—warmer, like he was enjoying this.

"So," He said, voice lighter now, "Lovegood and Potter, heretics, secretly carrying forgotten magic. Sounds like something straight out of a myth."

Harry scoffed. "You're taking this suspiciously well."

Draco shrugged. "Why wouldn't I? It's fascinating." He smirked. "Besides, it means you're even more special than the rest of us. I always suspected as much, especially after the whole Phoenix and flame thing."

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "Git."

Draco's smirk widened. "Potter."

For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of everything unsaid between them settling into something quieter.

Draco, still watching him, finally spoke again, softer this time. "You said we're… whatever we are now." He tilted his head. "And what do you think that is, exactly?"

Harry swallowed, the memory of their kisses still fresh in his mind, the way Draco's hands had clenched into his robes like he didn't want to let go. He wanted to answer and say everything, everything he's wanted, everything he's needed. 

"What do you?" Harry countered, nervous. He didn't know what he could say that couldn't make Draco tuck tail and run. Harry always felt things wholly, never did half measures with the things he really cared about. What was he supposed to say? That he was heads over heels in love with the Slytherin boy and wanted to be his boyfriend, more than his boyfriend even? 

Draco's expression flickered—just for a second. A crack in the mask, a hesitation in the way his lips parted, like he hadn't expected the question to be turned on him. His fingers twitched against the fabric of his sleeve, but his gaze never wavered from Harry's.

"I," Draco hesitated, biting on his bottom lip before answering, his cheeks turning pink. "Well, I'd like to be able to call you my boyfriend." 

Harry's heart nearly stopped.

Draco's words hung in the air between them, fragile but certain, like something too precious to break. There was no smirk, no teasing deflection—just honesty. Pure honesty. 

Harry felt the world tilt slightly beneath him, like some invisible line had finally been crossed, and there was no going back.

Boyfriend.

It was ridiculous how one word could knock the breath from his lungs, could make warmth bloom in his chest like fire catching on dry wood.

"Yeah?" He managed, voice barely above a whisper, cracking at the end. 

Draco huffed a breathless laugh, shaking his head like he couldn't believe he'd actually said it aloud. "Yeah." His fingers twitched again, and this time, he reached out, hesitantly brushing against Harry's hand.

Harry didn't pull away. Instead, he flipped his palm upward, letting their fingers tangle together. Draco's grip was steady, warm despite the chill of the kitchen, and something inside Harry settled at the contact.

Boyfriend. He was Draco's boyfriend. 

He liked the way it sounded. 

"Alright," Harry murmured, squeezing Draco's hand once before lacing their fingers properly. "Then I guess that makes me yours."

Draco blinked, his breath catching slightly, and then—he grinned. Not a smirk, not a smug, self-satisfied expression, but a real grin. It was small, barely there, but it was real.

"You're mine," Draco repeated, testing the words like they were something new, something fragile. His thumb brushed idly against Harry's knuckles, like he was still coming to terms with the fact that this was happening. Harry understood, because he was too. 

Harry smirked, tilting his head. "You sound surprised."

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes—but he didn't let go. "Well, excuse me for not expecting to get a boyfriend in the middle of the Hogwarts kitchen surrounded by peeping-tom house elves."

The elves around them, who had indeed stopped what they were doing to stare and coo at the two lovesick fifteen year old boys, suddenly jumped at their acknowledgement and went back to what they were doing. Harry wasn't worried about the elves saying anything to anyone, they always seemed to keep secrets the best out of everyone else at the school. 

Harry laughed, unable to help himself. "Fair point."

Draco watched him, his expression softer than Harry had ever seen it. Then, slowly, carefully, he tugged Harry forward, closing the small distance between them. "Come here," He murmured, voice soft and warm. 

Harry went willingly.

Their lips met in a kiss that was sweeter than their first three, slower, but full of excitement. There was no hesitation this time—no uncertainty. Just warmth and the quiet, undeniable fact that this was real. They were real. 

The bond between them felt like it was doing cartwheels in their blood. 

Draco's free hand came up to cup Harry's jaw, thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. Harry sighed against his lips, his own fingers curling into the fabric of Draco's sleeve, holding him there like he never wanted to let go.

And maybe he didn't.

When they finally pulled away, Draco didn't move far. Their foreheads rested against each other, breath mingling in the cool air. Draco was taller than Harry still, he mused, even after the transformation. Harry had always liked people that were taller than him. 

"So," Draco murmured after a moment, his lips still curved at the corners. "We're really doing this, then?"

Harry chuckled, pressing a brief, teasing kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth before pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. "Yeah, Malfoy. We are."

Draco exhaled, his smirk tilting toward something far too pleased. "Good. Even if we do have to keep it a secret for now, I'm still glad we confirmed it." 

Draco's smirk lingered as he squeezed Harry's hand, their fingers still intertwined, as if neither of them quite wanted to let go. The warmth of Draco's palm, the steady way he held onto him, made something in Harry's chest unfurl—something fragile, something he hadn't realized he'd been holding so tightly inside himself. 

Harry didn't want to move. He wanted to stay in this moment, let it stretch on forever, where the weight of war and expectations and secrecy didn't matter. Where it was just them, standing in the soft glow of candlelight in the Hogwarts kitchens, ridiculous and impossible but somehow real.

But, of course, reality never let him have anything so easily.

"You do realize," Draco murmured, his voice edged with amusement, "that the moment we step out of this kitchen, we have to pretend like none of this happened?"

Harry let out a breathy laugh, leaning back just enough to study Draco's face. "Yeah. I know."

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "And you think you can manage that, Potter? Because, no offense, you're not exactly subtle."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I can be subtle."

Draco snorted. "You have the emotional discretion of a particularly loud and tragic Greek hero."

Harry scowled, tugging his hand free just to shove Draco's shoulder. "Oh, shut up."

Draco chuckled, catching Harry's wrist before he could retreat entirely. He toyed with the edge of Harry's sleeve, fingers brushing over the fabric like he was memorizing the texture.

Then, softer, "I'm not joking, you know. We have to be careful. Extra careful now. Not just a blood bond and friendship we have to hide now." 

The weight behind his words settled between them, heavier than before. Harry's smile faded slightly. "I know," He said again, quieter this time. "I do."

Draco searched his face for a long moment, like he was making sure Harry truly understood. Then, with a resigned sigh, he released his grip and took a deliberate step back, putting just enough space between them that the moment—this quiet, impossible moment—felt like it was slipping away.

Harry hated it.

But he also knew it was necessary.

"So," Draco said, slipping easily into his usual smirk, though there was something a little more genuine in the way his lips curved this time, "Do we shake hands? Sign a contract? Maybe exchange a vow of secrecy and undying devotion?"

Harry huffed a laugh, getting the joke Draco was making easily. "I think the kissing covered that, and if not, the blood bond certainly did." 

Draco tilted his head, considering. "Hmm. True. But I do think I'm owed one more kiss for good luck."

Before Harry could react, Draco leaned in again, brushing the softest, briefest kiss against the corner of his lips. It was barely anything—just a whisper of warmth, a fleeting promise—but it sent a shiver down Harry's spine all the same.

Then Draco was gone, stepping back like nothing had happened, smoothing down his robes as if he hadn't just left Harry standing there, slightly stunned and definitely breathless.

"We have like," Harry breathed out, his eyes glancing to the small clock on the kitchen wall, "five minutes before lunch ends, you know." His eyes went back to Draco's, green meeting grey, a desperation in them. Not even a couple for a few minutes and already Harry was whipped. 

Draco, to Harry's complete and utter shock, hesitated. It was brief—barely more than a flicker of thought behind his eyes—but Harry caught it.

A heartbeat passed, and then Draco's smirk returned, curling at the edges like he knew exactly what kind of power he held over Harry now. That was a dangerous, but thrilling, thing. 

"Five minutes," He echoed, drawing out the words like he was considering something deeply important. "Plenty of time, then."

Before Harry could process what that meant, Draco stepped forward again, closing the space between them in a single breath. His fingers ghosted over the fabric of Harry's robes, just above his waist, before settling there lightly. He didn't pull Harry in—he didn't have to. Harry was already leaning forward, already meeting him halfway.

This time, when Draco kissed him, it was deliberate. Planned. A famous Draco Malfoy plot. 

It wasn't hurried like before, or stolen in the middle of some emotionally charged moment. It wasn't an accident or an impulsive slip of control.

It was slow. Intentional.

Draco kissed him like he had five minutes and was determined to make every single second count. It didn't matter that that was exactly the case. 

Harry melted into it before he could stop himself, his hands coming up to clutch at Draco's robes like they were the only thing keeping him grounded, and they were. The slight chill of Draco's lips meeting his warm ones, the way he moved, the quiet sigh that slipped from him—it was dizzying. Addicting. Dangerous. Deadly. 

Harry was fairly sure that if he wasn't careful, he could get used to this.

Which was a problem.

A very, very big problem.

Because the moment they walked out of this kitchen, none of this could exist. They couldn't smile at each other in the halls, couldn't sneak touches under the table in class, couldn't even look at each other for too long without risking suspicion.

They had to pretend. They had to hate each other. 

And pretending suddenly seemed a lot harder than it had five minutes ago.

Draco pulled away first, but he didn't go far. He lingered close enough that Harry could feel the brush of his breath against his lips, could still taste the faint hint of mint and something distinctly Draco. His grey eyes were sharp, unreadable, but the faintest flush had crept up his neck, a rare crack in the perfectly constructed Malfoy mask. He wanted to push and see just how much it took before that mask broke altogether, before it could never be recovered. He wanted to see the Draco from summer again. 

Harry, feeling dazed and just a little breathless, exhaled slowly. "You're really not making it easy to go back to pretending, you know."

Draco's smirk was entirely too pleased, too satisfied in his power over the chosen one. "I never said I was going to make it easy, Potter."

Harry groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "You are the absolute worst."

Draco hummed, clearly unbothered. "And yet, here you are, kissing me back."

Harry scowled, but it held no real heat. "I hate you."

Draco grinned. "Mm. Sure you do."

With a final squeeze to Harry's wrist, he stepped away properly this time, straightening his robes like nothing had happened. Like they hadn't just stolen a moment that neither of them had any business taking.

"You better get going," Draco drawled, glancing toward the kitchen entrance. "Wouldn't want the school to get suspicious."

Harry sighed, already dreading leaving the kitchen. "Yeah. Right."

Draco hesitated again, just for a second, then reached out and lightly brushed his knuckles against Harry's, the gesture small, fleeting, but undeniably affectionate. "I'll see you later after your detention."

And then, just like that, he was gone, slipping out of the kitchens with the kind of effortless grace that only a Malfoy could manage after thoroughly ruining someone's day in the best possible way.

Harry stood there for a moment, staring at the door Draco had just disappeared through, still feeling the ghost of his lips against his own.

Then he groaned, tilting his head back toward the ceiling, adjusting his robes uncomfortably. 

Merlin wasn't enough, Harry went back to his muggle roots. God. He was screwed. So so screwed. He kind of liked it though. 

——

Harry spent the rest of the week doing three things, one of which was meeting with Draco before, after, and sometimes even between classes to snog each other crazy. The others being spending time with Luna and planning a study group lesson plan with only half-baked ideas from a kiss-drunk Draco. 

There was something that haunted him though, haunted him everywhere he went, his every thought that wasn't about Draco or magic. There was a hole in his chest that used to be occupied by his closest friends, his chosen family. Ron and Hermione. 

"I miss them," Harry admitted one night, laying on his back on the abandoned necromancy classroom floor, Draco tucked tight into his side. It was beyond late, a cushioning charm being their only save and grace from having a hurt back. 

Draco shifted slightly, his head resting on Harry's shoulder, his breath warm against the side of his neck. "Then why don't you talk to them?" His voice was quiet, but not unkind.

Harry sighed, staring up at the cracked ceiling. "It's not that simple."

"It never is with you, is it?" Draco muttered, but there was no real bite to it. His fingers traced absent patterns along Harry's sleeve, a habit he'd picked up over the past few days. "You can stare at the problem all you want, Potter, but that's not going to fix anything. If you miss them, talk to them."

Harry swallowed, shifting slightly to rest his chin against Draco's hair. "What if they don't want to talk to me?"

Draco scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. It's Granger and Weasley. They might be mad at you, but they don't just stop caring. That's your job, not theirs."

Harry flinched slightly, but he didn't argue. He knew Draco was right. He had been the one avoiding them, pulling away first. He had built the distance between them, and now he didn't know how to close it.

Draco sighed, pulling back just enough to look at Harry properly. "Listen," He said, his expression serious now. "You and I both know that you're terrible at asking for help. You bottle things up, you convince yourself you're better off alone, and then you wonder why everything feels like it's falling apart. I can't fix that for you, and neither can Luna, no matter how much she understands. But if you don't do something about it, you're going to regret it."

Harry exhaled sharply, letting his eyes close for a moment. He was right. "You sound like Hermione."

Draco smirked, though his nose scrunching a bit at the comparison. Draco still didn't like the fact he was second in all his classes because of Hermione. "High praise, honestly. She's the smartest person in our year and you know it."

Harry huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He knew Draco would never admit that to anyone else. "Yeah, yeah." He hesitated, then glanced down at Draco, catching the way his silver eyes softened in the dim candlelight. "Will you—will you help me?"

Draco blinked, clearly caught off guard, before tilting his head. "Help you apologize to your friends?" He rolled his eyes, but his fingers tightened around Harry's sleeve. "Merlin. What have I become?"

"A decent person?" Harry offered, smirking.

Draco scowled, turning his nose up. "Watch it, Potter."

Harry laughed, nudging him playfully. "But seriously. You'll help?"

Draco exhaled, feigning great suffering, but then he nodded. "Fine. But only because I refuse to deal with your miserable pining any longer."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, Draco."

Draco groaned, burying his face back into Harry's shoulder. "You owe me for this."

Harry hummed, his fingers tangling absently in Draco's hair. "I'll pay you back in kisses."

Draco didn't move for a moment, then sighed dramatically. "I suppose that's an..acceptable currency."

Harry chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Draco's head. "I thought you'd say that."

——

The next day, with Draco's not-so-subtle shoves in the right direction, Harry found himself standing in the Gryffindor common room, stomach twisting uncomfortably as he spotted Hermione and Ron at their usual spot near the fireplace.

The room was quiet, empty except the three of them. The rare sunny Saturday had drawn most students outside, taking advantage of the warmth before the Scottish chill inevitably crept back in. Lavender and Parvati had told him about a small friendly quidditch game happening that day between houses as well, drawing most, if not all, students out of the castle. Everyone except them of course, the three students who had no reason to be happy on such a beautiful day, not if they couldn't spend it together. 

Harry stood there, hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching them.

Hermione was hunched over a stack of parchment, ink smudges on her fingertips and her nose, her quill moving furiously as she muttered under her breath—no doubt rewriting notes for the third or fourth time. Ron, sprawled beside her, was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, staring up at the ceiling with a tired sort of exasperation, his foot tapping absently against the floor, half paying attention to her and half not.

Harry swallowed hard. He missed that. It was funny, how he could miss something he used to loathe. He used to hate studying in general, never really understanding why he had to do it, why they had to take time to learn things when he was always better at learning on his feet and in the moment, why Hermione was obsessed with studying and learning as much as she could, why Ron was so against it. Cedric had.. changed things. That summer had changed things even more. Now it was like Harry couldn't get enough of learning, of reading. 

He had spent days avoiding them. Ignoring the way Hermione's eyes lingered on him in class, filled with silent questions. Ignoring the way Ron would glance at him across the Great Hall, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how. Ignoring how he pretended they hated him as an excuse to try and protect them. Ignoring how much it hurt.

Now, standing here, knowing he was the one who had created this distance, the weight of it felt unbearable. He almost turned around. Almost walked straight back up to his dormitory and pretended he hadn't come down here at all.

But then he thought of what Draco had said last night, of what Ginny had been trying to beat into his head with dinner rolls. 

If you miss them, talk to them.

And before he could talk himself out of it, he cleared his throat.

Hermione looked up first, blinking as she took him in, her quill pausing mid-stroke. Ron followed a second later, shifting forward in his chair, brows knitting together.

"Harry?" Ron said, sitting up straighter.

Harry forced himself to hold their gazes, his heart hammering. "Hey."

For a long, painful moment, none of them spoke.

The weight of everything unsaid pressed down on Harry's chest. His fingers twitched at his sides, clenching into the fabric of his red jumper. His throat felt tight, his magic coiling beneath his skin like it didn't know whether to flee or fight.

And then—Ron broke the silence.

"You alright, mate?" He asked, hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask.

Harry nearly laughed. He had been the one avoiding them, ignoring them, pushing them away—and yet Ron still asked if he was alright. Of course he did. Because that was Ron. That was always Ron. Ron would always be the bravest of them, Harry had known that from the first day they met. 

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. "No," He admitted. "I'm not." His voice wavered, but he forced himself to push forward. "And I—" He exhaled shakily, meeting their eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Hermione's face softened instantly, but she stayed silent, waiting. Hermione was logical, an observer, a listener. She knew he wasn't finished yet. 

Harry took a deep breath, forcing the words out before he could convince himself to shut down again. Before he gave in and ran off again. 

"I've been a right prat. A horrible friend," He said, voice thick. "I pulled away when I shouldn't have, and I didn't tell you what was going on because I—" His throat tightened. "I don't even know. I just—I was scared. And angry. And I didn't want to put more on you. But I should have trusted you. I should have let you in. And I didn't. And I'm so, so sorry."

Hermione let out a small, wobbly breath. And then—before Harry could react—she was on her feet, closing the distance between them in two quick strides and wrapping him in a fierce, crushing hug. Harry's breath caught as her arms locked around him, as she clung to him like she wasn't sure if she ever wanted to let go. 

"I'm sorry too," Hermione whispered against his shoulder, her voice cracking. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his arms coming up to hold her just as tightly. Merlin, he had missed that. Who knew a week could feel like months? 

"We pushed," Hermione continued, her breath shaky. "I pushed. Too much. I kept trying to force you to talk when you weren't ready. I thought I was helping, but I wasn't—I was making it worse, I know that now." She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, her own glassy with unshed tears. "You're not the only one to blame, Harry. We both are. And I'm so, so sorry for pushing you when you weren't ready."

Harry shook his head. "No, you were just trying to be there for me. I should have—" He swallowed hard. "I should have let you."

Before he could say anything else, Ron was suddenly there too, his long arms wrapping around both of them in a tight, warm squeeze. Harry had always liked it when Ron did that, made the trio's friendship feel more real, more united. 

"I'm sorry too, mate," Ron muttered, voice rough. "I've been a complete and total shit friend recently. I was a shit friend last year, I was a shit friend this summer, and I've been a shit friend the past few days." He squeezed Harry tighter. "I don't know why I didn't just talk to you. I guess I thought… if you wanted to tell me, you would've." He let out a breath. "But I should've checked in anyway. I should've been there, and I wasn't. And I hate that."

Harry let out a shaky breath, something in his chest loosening. "I missed you both."

Ron let out a short, wet laugh. "Yeah, well. We missed you too, you prat."

Hermione made a choked noise, half-laugh, half-sob, burying her face against Harry's shoulder for a moment before pulling back and wiping furiously at her eyes. "Oh, honestly," She muttered, shaking her head. "Look at us. A right mess, the lot of us."

They all knew they hadn't been the best to each other, they all had their own issues, but they had a bond that was more magical than anything Harry could have with anyone else. It wasn't prophesied by the fates or forged by a blood vow. It was organic, built by the three of them and strengthened and tested through trials, tribulations, and their own horrible prides. They knew so much was going unsaid, but it didn't have to be explicitly stated. They knew they had all fucked up, and they knew they had to be better, for the sake of their friendships. 

"A control freak, someone with an inferiority complex, and someone with anger issues. Of course there's going to be trouble along the way," A voice called, followed by a smack to the back of all three of their heads. "Thank Merlin and his blue tits that's finally fucking over," Ginny exaggerated a sigh, collapsing on a couch in the common room dramatically, her entrance unable to be missed. "Had us all walking on eggshells." 

Harry let out a choked laugh, rubbing the back of his head where Ginny had smacked him. "Oi," He grumbled, though there was no real heat in it. The warmth in his chest, the sheer relief of having Hermione and Ron back, made it impossible to be annoyed.

Ginny just smirked at him, arms crossed over her chest. "Don't 'oi' me, Potter. You three have been absolutely insufferable for days. We were all starting to wonder if we'd have to lock you lot in a broom cupboard until you sorted it out."

Harry rolled his eyes, but before he could retort, Hermione swiped at her own eyes once more and sniffled again. "You knew we'd fix it eventually," She said, voice thick with emotion, her eyes slightly narrowed at her friend. 

Ginny arched a brow, her sass evident. "Did I? You're all equally as stubborn as each other."

Harry sighed, finally stepping back from the hug, though he didn't move far. "Well… we're good now." He looked between Ron and Hermione, some of the tension in his shoulders finally easing. "Right?"

Hermione nodded firmly, unwavering. "Right."

Ron grinned, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Yeah, mate. We're good."

Ginny gave a dramatic sigh of relief. "Finally!" Then, in a much more serious voice, she added, "Now, are you going to tell us what's actually been going on with you, or do we have to go back to harassing you for answers? Because like it or not Harry, Hermione did have a point, even if she went about it in the wrong way. You're pulling away on purpose because of that massive savior complex you've got."

Harry hesitated, glancing between them. Leave it to Ginny Weasley to get through to him, even if it was practically with a chainsaw and not a chisel. He had planned on keeping some things to himself—Draco, for one. The horcruxes for another. But there were other things—things he could tell them.

Like Umbridge.

He exhaled sharply and moved to sit down on the couch next to Ginny. "It's… a lot," He admitted.

Hermione and Ron sat too, Hermione beside Harry on the couch and Ron in an armchair. Ron looked mildly nervous, while Hermione had that familiar focused expression, the one that meant she was already preparing for the worst, readying something to say. 

Harry rubbed his hands together, then, finally, looked up at them. "Umbridge," He said. "She's been—she's been making me do detention, as you already know." He hesitated, then slowly turned over his hand, showing them the scar still etched into his skin. "Writing lines."

Hermione inhaled sharply, her eyes watering once again, but these weren't tears of just sadness, but anger. Ron's eyes went wide, then darkened, a look that could terrify even the bravest of Gryffindors. Ginny, on the other hand, let out a vicious curse, one that even the twins would balk out. 

"What the fuck, Harry?!" She hissed, reaching for his wrist, her fingers brushing the deep scar. "That's—! That's—how long has this been happening?"

Harry grimaced. "Since the first detention, a few days ago. Been happening every night."

Hermione made a sound like she was being strangled. "You didn't tell us?" She whispered, voice high-pitched with disbelief. "Harry, this is illegal! It's—it's torture! It's mutilation!" 

"I know," Harry muttered, stomach twisting with guilt. How did he explain to his friends that he thought he deserved it? "But what was I supposed to do? Go to Dumbledore?" He huffed out a humorless laugh. "We all know how well that would go."

Ron was still staring at his hand, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "I'm going to kill her," He muttered, voice low and dangerous, and Harry knew his typically mild-mannered friend wasn't lying. It was always terrifying when Ron got mad, even if he did have a ticking temper. 

"You'll have to get in line," Ginny bit out, eyes blazing. "How bad is it, Harry? Be honest."

Harry sighed. "It doesn't matter—"

"It does matter," Hermione interrupted fiercely, grabbing his wrist too and running her fingers gently over the words, her hands slightly shaking. "It always matters. You always matter. I hate that you don't believe that, but it's true. You matter to us, and we want to help. If we didn't love you Harry, we wouldn't want to help."

Harry hesitated, then exhaled sharply. Hermione did have a point, and didn't she always? "It hurt. A lot. This is just the first, I've managed to heal the rest. She uh.." Harry looked to the side, trying to avoid their eyes. "I refused to let her see that it hurt, so the next night she made it worse, made it more psychological and emotional torture and not just physical." 

"What did that toad do, Harry?" Hermione whispered, quiet but unsteady. He knew Hermione was holding back for his benefit, knew Hermione was ready to explode just like Ron and Ginny was. Hermione was good like that, always trying to be there for him even if her own emotions were getting in the way. She always put Harry and Ron's problems ahead of her own. He really had been a terrible friend to her. 

"She found old clippings about that night. When Voldemort.." Harry hesitated to say it, hesitated to let out the words. He didn't have to, but he needed to. "When he killed them. When he gave me the scar. She made me copy them in the same way I did the lines. Cut it into me." 

Silence. Thick, suffocating, heavy.

The kind of silence that only comes before a storm.

Hermione's face paled considerably, her lips pressed together so tightly they trembled. Her eyes were glossy, furious, horrified. She looked like she wanted to say something—like she needed to say something—but the words weren't forming. It was truly a horrible thing when even Hermione Granger couldn't find the right words to say. 

Ron, on the other hand, wasn't silent. He wasn't making a sound necessarily, but his entire body was shaking with barely restrained rage. His hands curled into fists, his knuckles turning stark white, and his breathing had turned sharp, unsteady. He was looking at Harry's hand like he wanted to break something, like he needed to break something.

And Ginny—Ginny was seething. Her hands clenched at her sides, her chest rising and falling with deep, furious breaths. "That—" She choked out. "That bitch."

Harry swallowed, rubbing his palm against his robes as though he could erase the weight of their reactions, the sheer rage radiating off his friends. "It's—"

"If you say it's fine, I will hex you," Hermione snapped suddenly, her voice trembling. She was breathing hard through her nose, her thick brown curls frizzing with the sheer force of her emotions. "This is not fine, Harry. This is—this is beyond evil! She tortured you. She—" Hermione's voice cracked, and she pressed a hand to her mouth like she could physically stop herself from breaking apart, standing suddenly and beginning to pace back and forth like a General making war plans. 

Ron stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. "We're killing her," He said, voice flat. "That's it. We're killing her."

Ginny nodded solemnly. "And if we go to Azkaban for it, so be it."

"No one is killing anyone," Hermione ground out, though her voice wasn't nearly as firm as it usually was. She looked like she might start crying or actually commit a murder—possibly both. "Seriously maim, yes. Forcible removal of a few limbs, maybe." She muttered under her breath, going back to her pacing. 

Harry let out a nervous chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, so maybe I should have told you sooner."

Hermione spun on her heel, eyes blazing. "You think?" She snapped, throwing her hands in the air. "Harry, this isn't just detention! This is deliberate psychological and physical torture! And the Ministry is letting her do it! Dumbledore is letting her do it!"

Ron let out a string of curses that would make even his older brothers proud, pacing furiously beside her. His face was red with anger, his fists clenched at his sides like he was imagining them around Umbridge's throat. "I knew she was evil, I knew it, but this—" He shook his head, eyes dark with fury. "This is beyond anything I thought. She—she made you write out your parents' murders?! What the hell, Harry?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't expected them to take it well, exactly, but their sheer level of outrage was honestly a little overwhelming. "Look," He started, "I didn't want to drag you into this—"

"Drag us into—oh my god," Ginny practically shrieked. She reached over and smacked him on the arm—hard. "You absolute moron! You daft dim dumbass! We were already in this! We've always been in this! You think we're just going to sit by while you get tortured by some evil Ministry toad puppet?!"

Harry rubbed his arm, wincing. "Okay, ow—"

"Hush," Hermione huffed, arms crossed. "I cannot believe you. You never tell us anything when it matters!"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, then promptly shut it. Because—well. That was fair. That was true, more than true. He never did tell them anything.. no wonder they pushed so much. He was always so sure no one would believe him.. but did he ever even try to speak up? Would he tell anyone anything if he wasn't pushed to do so? If he wasn't thrown into a situation where he had to? He wouldn't trust Draco with so much without the bond, if he didn't have the absolute certainty the bond placed around them..nor Luna. 

Ron let out a sharp breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, okay," He muttered, forcing himself to stop pacing. "We need a plan."

Hermione nodded fiercely. "Yes. A plan. A very thorough, highly illegal plan."

Ginny grinned, vicious. "Now we're talking."

Harry stared between them. "You lot are actually serious about this, aren't you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, absolutely. She deserves to suffer."

Ron cracked his knuckles. "We're not letting this slide, mate. No way."

Hermione took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself down enough to think logically. "Alright," She said. "If we're going to take her down, we need proof. Something undeniable. Something that even the Ministry can't ignore."

Harry hesitated. "I mean, I still have the scars…"

Hermione nodded sharply. "Good. That's a start. But we need more. We need witnesses. If we can find other students who have been punished the same way, if we can get their statements—"

"Some of the younger students have definitely gone quiet since her detentions started," Ginny realized, eyes widening before they narrowed in a way that made Harry start to sweat. That was not a look he wanted to see Ginny wear. That look meant someone was going to be punished in a way only Ginny Weasley could do. "I bet she's been doing the same thing to them."

Ron clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowed in a way much similar to Ginny's. The idea of first years getting tortured made him feel sick. "Then we get them to talk. Safely. Without her knowing."

"We could use the study group," Harry piped up, even though he almost pissed himself when the look of his two angry ginger friends landed on him. If one Weasley was dangerous, imagine the damage two could cause. Hell, Harry worried what would happen when word spread to Fred and George. Four royally pissed off and full of raw justice Weasley siblings was like the beginning of an Azkaban level of offense just waiting to happen. "I've been organizing it this week, recruiting people and starting a lesson plan for OWLs. We could use that to spread word, you all know how fast information spreads at this school." 

Hermione's eyes gleamed with something sharp and calculating. "That's actually a brilliant idea, Harry," She admitted, already shifting into strategist mode. "If we use the study group as a way to talk to students, they won't suspect anything. We can ask in a casual way, make it seem like we're just concerned about how detentions have been going."

Ginny smirked. "And once we have proof, we hit back."

Ron cracked his knuckles. "And hard."

Harry shifted, looking at them all. "And… what if we can't get enough proof?" He asked, because as much as he wanted to take Umbridge down, the last thing he needed was to make things worse for the younger students who were already afraid.

Hermione pressed her lips together, thoughtful. "Then we make sure she can't hurt anyone else."

The way she said it made Harry's skin prickle. There was something dangerous in her tone, something not unlike the glint in Draco's eyes when he was plotting something truly devious.

Harry exhaled. "Alright," He said. "Then let's do it. Let's start the CA."

Ron frowned, his anger dulling from his confusion, sitting back down on his armchair. "The what now?"

Harry blinked. "Oh. Right. That's—uh, Luna called it that once. Cedric's Army." 

Ginny tilted her head. "Cedric's Army?" She repeated, like she was testing out the way the words felt in her mouth, curiosity evident in her voice. 

Harry nodded, swallowing against the lump that always formed when he thought about Cedric. "Yeah. Luna said something a while ago about how people always need something to believe in. Cedric—he was… he was good. And he was the first real victim of this war. Everyone knows it, even if they don't talk about it or acknowledge it." 

Ron shifted uncomfortably but nodded. "Yeah," He murmured, quiet as he remembered what happened last year. "He was."

Hermione pursed her lips, thoughtful. "Cedric's Army," She echoed. "It makes sense. People cared about him. People still care about him. Using his name would remind them what's at stake, that we already lost one person and we don't want to lose any more."

Ginny exhaled sharply. "It'll right piss off the Ministry," She noted, but her lips twitched like that was more of a bonus than a drawback.

Harry nodded. "That's the point."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of what they were doing settling between them. This wasn't just about OWLs anymore. This was about all of it—about fighting back, about preparing for what was coming. Preparing for more than just exams and their futures, but to make sure their future even had a chance to exist. This was about making so much noise, the ministry and all of the people who turned a blind eye would have no choice but to listen. 

Ron let out a slow breath and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Alright," He said, voice steady. "Cedric's Army it is."

Hermione straightened, determination hardening in her eyes. "Then we need a plan."

Ginny grinned, stretching out more on the couch. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He had started the day unsure if he'd even get his friends back, and now they were sitting here, planning a rebellion together. Maybe things weren't as broken as he thought.

——

Later that night, Harry slipped into the hidden necromancy classroom, shutting the door behind him. Draco was already waiting, perched on the professor's desk, arms crossed, grey eyes sharp as they flicked over Harry's face.

"Well?" He asked. "How'd it go?"

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair before crossing the room and leaning beside him. "They know about Umbridge," He admitted. "And they want blood."

Draco smirked, his eyes lighting up. He was glad Harry's friends felt the same way he did about Umbridge. If Harry hadn't forbade him to do so, Umbridge would be dead already. "As they should."

Harry shot him a look. "Not literally."

Draco arched a brow. "You sure about that? Because after lunch today I heard Weasley muttering something about creative hexing in the halls, and Granger looked like she was debating whether a well-placed Vanishing Spell could erase Umbridge entirely at dinner." 

Harry let out a tired chuckle. "Yeah, well. It's deserved."

Draco tilted his head, studying him. "And the study group?"

Harry met his gaze, something steadier settling in his chest. "It's happening," He said. "And it's not just a study group anymore."

Draco's smirk deepened. "I could have told you that from the beginning, Potter. Crossing house lines is how every revolution begins, you know." 

Harry just sighed, resting his head down on Draco's shoulder. "I had some hope it would help in the end, but not this early. It feels like I'm setting everyone up for disaster." 

His nightmare from summer came to mind, the flashes of everyone dead in that blasted graveyard. He didn't even know Lavender that well back then, but still she had been there, lifeless and mared like everyone else. He reached up and held onto the locket around his throat, squeezing it tight to calm his nerves. Could that be what all this plotting and planning was leading towards? The destruction of everyone he knew? The destruction of the magical world as a whole? Is that what the truth book was warning him about? 

Draco was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached up and covered Harry's hand where it clutched the locket, his grip firm and grounding. "You're not leading them to disaster," He said, voice unusually soft. "You're giving them a chance."

Harry swallowed. "A chance to do what?"

"To fight. To be ready." Draco turned slightly, tilting his head so he could see Harry's face better. "You think this war isn't coming for them, whether they prepare for it or not? You think sitting back and pretending it doesn't exist will protect them?" He scoffed. "That's what the Ministry is doing. But you and I both know that ignorance won't save anyone, in fact it'll probably hurt them worse."

Harry exhaled, his hand loosening around the locket and instead went to Draco's, lacing their fingers together. Draco was right. He knew that. But knowing it didn't make it feel any less like he was painting a target on everyone's back. He had spent so long being the target himself, being the boy who lived, that the thought of dragging anyone else into that same crossfire made his stomach twist. It was bad enough Ron and Hermione were in the middle of it, and now Luna and Draco. 

Draco must have sensed the turmoil in him, because his grip around Harry's hand tightened, grounding. "You're not forcing them into this, Potter. They're choosing it. Just like you did."

Harry let out a humorless laugh. "I don't remember having much of a choice."

Draco arched a brow. "No? You could have walked away last year. You could have refused to compete in the Tournament. You could have left Cedric behind when you came back. But you didn't." His gaze sharpened, unwavering. "You always choose to fight, even when you don't realize it."

Harry swallowed hard. The words settled deep in his chest, pressing against the parts of himself he didn't like to acknowledge, the dark bits that swirled around his mind and told him that he suffered because he liked it. He looked away, staring at the flickering candle on the desk, trying to find something steady in the glow.

"I don't want them to die," He admitted, his voice quieter than before.

Draco's fingers curled against his wrist. "Then don't let them."

It was such a simple answer, but there was weight behind it—an unspoken promise. We'll find a way. We always do.

Harry exhaled, leaning more fully against Draco's side, letting himself take comfort in the coolness there. Draco's skin was always the perfect temperature, cold where Harry ran hot. "You're really good at this, you know."

Draco smirked. "Obviously. You should listen to me more often."

Harry rolled his eyes, letting out a soft sigh. "Where's the fun in that?" 

Draco huffed, nudging him lightly. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps in the fact that I'm always right?"

Harry snorted, shaking his head. "Right, right. You've never been wrong a day in your life."

Draco smirked but there was an obvious glint of mischief in his eyes. "Exactly."

Harry rolled his eyes, but the familiar banter settled something in his chest. It was strange, how easy this had become—this secret thing between them, this push and pull that somehow left him feeling steadier, rather than thrown off balance. He knew the bond was a piece of it, but so much more of it was just them. This was how they had always been, hadn't it? Even when they were enemies who despised each other, they had acted the same, even if it used to be in a negative context. Push and pull. Fire and ice. 

The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across Draco's face, highlighting the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the pale grey of his eyes. He looked softer in this light, less Malfoy and more… Draco. Just Draco. His Draco. 

Harry swallowed, his fingers tightening slightly where they were still laced with Draco's. "Thanks," He said after a moment, voice quieter than before.

Draco tilted his head, always confused by Harry's incessant need to say thanks for everything. "For what?"

Harry hesitated, then shrugged. "For listening. For—" He gestured vaguely between them. "This."

Something flickered in Draco's gaze. "You don't have to thank me for that."

Harry huffed a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "You say that like it's obvious."

Draco smirked, but it was smaller now, almost… shy. "Maybe it is."

They were close. Too close.

Harry was sure he had noticed it before, but suddenly, it was all he could think about—the way Draco was leaning in just slightly, the way his breath was warm against Harry's cheek, the way his fingers twitched against Harry's like he wanted to move but was waiting for something.

For permission.

Harry's heart thudded against his ribs, his pulse a steady drum in his ears. "Draco," He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Draco's breath hitched slightly. "Yeah?"

Harry didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned in, closing the last bit of space between them.

Their lips met, tentative at first, hesitant, like they were still testing the waters. But the moment Draco responded—tilting his head, pressing in just a little more—it was like something clicked into place. 

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, his free hand coming up to rest against Draco's cheek, fingers brushing against the soft skin there. Draco made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, his own hands shifting—one curling into the front of Harry's jumper, the other ghosting along his jaw.

It wasn't their first kiss, not by a long shot now, but it felt different. More certain. More real.

Harry sighed into it, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his fingers sliding into Draco's long hair, tangling in the strands. Draco shivered, his grip tightening, like he didn't want to let go. Harry didn't want to let go either.

The world outside the abandoned classroom faded away, leaving only this—only Draco's lips against his, only the quiet, steady thrum of magic between them, only the way their bodies seemed to fit together without effort.

Eventually, they pulled away just enough to catch their breath, their foreheads still resting together. Harry's eyes flickered open, meeting Draco's. They were blown wide, his pupils dilated, his breath unsteady.

"Well," Draco murmured, his lips curling into a smirk that was entirely too pleased, though his voice was a little shaky. "That was… effective."

Harry huffed a laugh, bumping their noses together. "Git."

Draco chuckled, but the sound was softer than usual, something warm lingering in his gaze, blinking slowly. "You started it."

Harry hummed, shifting so their noses brushed again, their lips a breath apart. "And you're not complaining."

Draco's smirk widened as he murmured, "Not even a little."

Harry grinned, then closed the small distance between them again, stealing another kiss, and another, and another—as the candle burned low and sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. 

The candlelight flickered as Draco smirked against Harry's lips, his fingers still curled into the fabric of Harry's jumper, keeping him close—like he was afraid to let go, afraid this was still something fragile, something that might shatter if handled too roughly. But Harry was done being careful. He had spent his entire life second-guessing what he wanted, denying himself things that made him feel whole, feel good.

And Draco—Draco made him feel good. Draco made him feel real. Draco made him feel invincible. 

A rush of heat curled in Harry's gut, an undeniable, all-consuming pull in his chest as he gripped the front of Draco's shirt and yanked him forward, kissing him with enough force to send them stumbling. Draco gasped softly against his lips, surprised by the sudden desperation, but he didn't hesitate to kiss him back, matching Harry's intensity like a challenge, like a promise.

Their movements turned frenzied, hands grasping, bodies pressing closer, breathless sounds slipping between kisses that were growing hotter, more demanding. Harry's hands found Draco's waist, fingers tightening, and without thinking—without hesitation—he moved.

Draco let out a startled noise as Harry lifted him, hands gripping his thighs, hoisting him up effortlessly, the perks of being a quidditch player. For a split second, Draco's arms latched around Harry's shoulders, steadying himself, but the moment he realized what was happening, his smirk returned, breathless and taunting against Harry's lips.

"Strong, are you?" He murmured, teasing, but his voice was shaky, and Harry could sense the way his pulse thrummed wildly.

Harry huffed a breathless laugh, pressing Draco back against the teaching desk, letting his weight settle on the edge before guiding him down to lay back. The smooth wood was cool against Draco's back as Harry hovered over him, locket dangling between them, bracing himself with one hand while the other slid along Draco's side, slow, deliberate, making him shiver.

Draco's smirk faltered, his breath hitching as Harry's fingers brushed over the sensitive skin beneath the collar of his shirt. "Oh," He breathed, his voice softer, less controlled than before.

Harry grinned against his lips. "What was that?" He teased, dipping lower, pressing his lips to the sharp line of Draco's jaw, trailing down to the curve of his neck.

Draco arched beneath him, his fingers digging into Harry's jumper, gripping them tight like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. "Shut up, Potter," He muttered, but it came out shaky, like he was barely holding onto whatever composure he had left.

Harry didn't shut up. Instead, he kissed along the pale column of Draco's throat, open-mouthed and hungry, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark—proof that this was real, that Draco was his, even if only in secret. He could wear a turtleneck jumper tomorrow, Harry excused his actions mentally.

Draco let out a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tilted his head back, exposing more of his throat, surrendering to Harry's touch. "Merlin," He gasped, his voice laced with something raw, something real.

Harry pulled back slightly, his green eyes dark, pupils blown wide as he looked down at Draco, taking him in—the way his long pale hair was a mess against the dark wood like a halo, the way his lips were red and slightly swollen from their kisses, the way his grey eyes were heavy with something between desire and disbelief.

He was beautiful.

And he was Harry's.

A wave of something hot and possessive curled in Harry's chest, something he didn't fully understand but didn't care to fight. He dipped back down, capturing Draco's lips in another searing kiss, his hands exploring, memorizing, claiming.

Draco responded in kind, arching into him, hands tangling in Harry's hair, pulling him closer, like there wasn't enough space in the world to keep them apart. The intensity grew, their kisses turning more desperate, more consuming, like they were trying to make up for all the time wasted in hatred, in pretending. 

They didn't even notice the door creaking open, not until they heard a sharp squeal that made them jump apart. 

"I knew it! I knew it! You owe me fifty galleons, Zabini!" Pansy Parkinson squealed out, her eyes full of excitement, standing in front of the small group of Slytherins who had discovered them. She was practically jumping up and down with how excited she was, her short black bob bouncing with her every move. 

Blaise Zabini stood beside Pansy, a growing grin on his face despite him losing a bunch of money on a wager. He seemed thoroughly entertained by the whole thing. Behind them were three others, a dirty blonde he recognized as Daphne Greengrass, the girl who gave him a spare quill once, and a tall quiet boy with short fluffy brown hair he had seen in the halls, always standing behind his friends like a bodyguard would.. Harry thinks his name was Theodore Nott. The last was Millicent Bulstrode, a thick and stocky girl who towered over them all. She usually wore a mean look on her face, but instead of her usual intimidation, she wore a look of glee like they all did. 

"Circe's sacred fucking sickles, kill me now." Draco groaned, burying his head in his hands. Of course his friends had to burst in at the wrong time, just of course. He wouldn't expect anything less from his annoying, but lovable, friends. 

Harry froze, looking like a deer in headlights. He didn't really know that much on the Slytherins, other than how much they meant to Draco and how close they all were, and he didn't know what to expect. He didn't expect them all to look so smug and happy at catching their best friend making out with a Gryffindor, and not just any Gryffindor, the Gryffindor golden boy and the boy who lived. He knew most of their parents were deatheaters, or deatheater adjacent, so why did they all seem so happy? 

Draco groaned again, still refusing to look up, his hands covering his face like that would somehow make this all go away. "This is a nightmare," He muttered, voice muffled against his palms. "I'm sure I'll wake up any minute." 

Harry, still reeling from the shock of their very enthusiastic audience, turned to Draco's so-called friends, wide-eyed. "How long have you lot been standing there?" He demanded, his face burning, his voice cracking midway. 

Blaise grinned, casually leaning against the doorframe. "Long enough to witness the absolute spectacle of you two trying to eat each other alive. Really, Potter, you're not subtle at all."

Daphne Greengrass smirked, crossing her arms, mischief radiating from her. "Not that we're complaining. It was quite the show."

Harry sputtered, his brain short-circuiting. "I—! We—! That's not—!"

"Not what it looks like?" Theodore Nott drawled, his quiet amusement barely concealed beneath his otherwise stoic expression. "Because it very much looks like what it looks like, Potter, unless of course you were trying to give Draco mouth to mouth.. with your tongue."

Millicent Bulstrode snorted, cracking her knuckles with a grin. "You should've just told us, Draco. Would have saved us all from our interventions because of your rants about 'Perfect Potter'."

Draco finally peeked out from behind his hands, glaring at them. "You absolute menaces. I hate all of you."

Pansy beamed at him, her eyes full of absolute mischief and joy. "No, you don't."

Draco huffed, shooting her a truly withering look before turning to Blaise. "Fifty galleons? Really?"

Blaise shrugged, still grinning. "What can I say? I had faith in your ability to deny your feelings for at least another few months. Clearly, I overestimated you."

Harry, still recovering from the embarrassment of being caught mid-snog, finally managed to gather himself enough to glare at the group. "Are you all done?"

Pansy tapped her chin, considering. "Hmm. I don't know, Potter. Depends. Are you planning on continuing where you left off? Because if so, I'd like to place another bet."

Harry groaned, dragging a hand through his already messy hair. "You Slytherins are the worst."

Draco, despite his obvious mortification, smirked, finally regaining some of his composure. "And yet, you're dating one."

Harry shot him a glare but couldn't stop the small, helpless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He'd melt at those words if they were still in private. "Merlin help me, I actually am."

Daphne's eyes widened, a look of horror flashing across her face. "Oh Salazar.. this might actually be worse. Before we just had to half pay attention to Draco's rants about wanting and hating and loving Potter.. now we have to actually witness them together."

"I think I might be sick," Millicent announced, shivering as her face scrunched at the thought. 

Draco groaned again, dramatically throwing himself back against the desk as if he could will himself out of existence. "I hate all of you," He repeated, muffled against his hands.

"You keep saying that," Pansy said cheerfully, walking over to the two boys without a care, "but I think you actually love us very much, and you just don't know how to express it in healthy ways."

Draco lifted his head just enough to shoot her a withering glare. "Say another word, Parkinson, and I swear I will—"

"—Oh, please, do threaten me, Draco," She interrupted, smirking. "I've missed the drama. It's been so boring around here without you mooning over Potter like a tragic romantic hero. I was beginning to think I'd have to start causing problems on purpose."

Harry groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. "You mean to tell me he's been talking about me? To you lot?"

"Oh, constantly," Blaise drawled. "We've had to endure hours of 'Potter is insufferable,' followed by 'Potter is reckless' and 'Potter is going to get himself killed' and my personal favorite—'why does Potter look good when he's angry?'" He sighed theatrically. "It's been exhausting."

Harry turned to Draco for confirmation, who still refused to look at anyone. "You talked about me?"

"Don't sound so smug, Potter," Draco muttered, voice laced with mortification. "I was suffering from an affliction."

"An affliction?" Harry repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Draco lifted his head, scowling. "Yes. You."

Pansy clapped her hands together. "Oh, this is delicious." She turned to the others. "We must celebrate. Our dear Draco is finally getting some—"

Draco sat up so fast it was almost inhuman, his voice raising in a hissing tone. "Parkinson—"

"Romance," She finished innocently, batting her eyelashes. "What did you think I was going to say?"

Millicent choked on her laughter, Theo was smirking like the menace he was, and Blaise looked like he was about to keel over from sheer amusement, a hand over his mouth to stop himself from outwardly laughing, but his body shook from the force of holding it in. 

Harry, on the other hand, was trying to remain composed. He really was. But the sight of Draco Malfoy—poster boy for Pureblood Composure—flustered beyond reason was sending his brain into a catastrophic spiral.

Draco did talk about him.

Draco had been suffering over him.

Draco wanted him.

Harry's stomach twisted pleasantly. "So," He said, trying and failing to sound casual, "does this mean your friends approve?"

Draco made an inhuman noise, like he was moments away from actually hexing himself unconscious, his head going back into his hands.

"Oh, of course," Blaise said smoothly, inspecting his nails, his tone mostly teasing. "We do have a reputation to uphold, Potter. Our dear Draco can't just go around snogging just anyone in abandoned classrooms. Only the best for the Malfoy heir."

Draco groaned again. "I am going to die."

Harry smirked. He liked this. He liked having Draco off-balance, flustered and dramatic and unable to keep up with his own emotions. It was endearing. And, if Harry was being honest with himself, insanely attractive.

He leaned in slightly, making sure to keep his voice just low enough that only Draco could hear. "Oh, so I'm the best?"

Draco stiffened, eyes going wide as his face turned even pinker. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally settled on glowering at Harry. "I hate you."

Harry grinned, leaning back. "No, you don't."

Blaise let out a mocked gasp. "Merlin's beard, Pansy, he's worse than Draco." He teased, and Pansy seemed to be absolutely loving it, squealing in response. 

"Oh, I love this for us," Daphne sighed happily. "This is exactly what our lives needed. A proper romance. It's like something straight out of an opera."

"An opera?" Draco demanded, still looking like he'd rather combust than continue this conversation.

"Oh yes," Daphne continued, completely unbothered by Draco's suffering. "The passionate rivalry, the dramatic secret meetings, the tragic backstories—" She smirked, looking between them, "—the forbidden love."

Millicent actually cackled at that one, which was a slightly terrifying sound, like thunder echoing in the room. "We should start a betting pool on how long it'll take before everyone else finds out," She mused.

"Already did," Blaise said easily, smirking as he flicked through a few pieces of parchment from his pocket. 

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Oh, don't look so scandalized, Potter," Blaise said, waving him off. "You knew the moment you two stopped throwing hexes and started staring longingly at each other across the room that people would get involved."

Draco buried his head in his hands again. "Merlin, Salazar, Circe, fucking muggle-Jesus, I don't care who it is. Just end me now."

Pansy patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, come on, darling. Look on the bright side! At least now you won't have to pretend you hate him anymore around us, and we won't have to pretend like we don't know you're lying through your teeth."

Draco lifted his head just enough to glare at her. "I still hate him."

Pansy just grinned, patting him sympathetically in his shoulder once more. "Yes, yes, of course you do, darling." She turned to Harry, still grinning. "Well, welcome to the family, Potter. You're officially one of ours now."

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought about that. Draco's friends—the people closest to him—had accepted him immediately. There was no hesitation, no disgust, no shock over him and Draco being together. They were excited. That was.. unexpected. He would have lost if he bet money on that. Had he been.. judging the Slytherins too harshly? 

Harry's chest warmed unexpectedly. He hadn't realized how much that meant to him. He had spent so much of his life being met with resistance—from the Dursleys, from the magical world, from his own professors, his friends sometimes. But here, standing in front of a group of Slytherins who should, by all rights, despise him…

They had welcomed him. They hadn't even questioned it. It was—overwhelming, in the best possible way. For so long, Slytherin had been the enemy. The people who sneered at him, who sided with Malfoy when they were enemies. But now, staring at their easy grins, their teasing jabs, their quiet, unwavering acceptance, Harry realized he'd been wrong. Maybe, he'd been wrong about a lot of things.

Draco, still grumbling under his breath about traitorous friends and how he needed new ones, was suddenly pulled into a side-hug by Theodore, who ruffled his hair. "Oh, shut up, Draco. You're happier than you've been in ages, and you know it."

Draco grumbled but didn't push him away.

Harry caught his eye, raising an eyebrow. "You are happy, right?"

Draco glared at him, but it lacked the usual venom. Then, after a moment, he sighed, looking away, his cheeks pink again. 

"Yeah," He muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear. "I am."

And that—that—was enough for Harry.

For now.

Because Merlin help him, he was going to make sure Draco Malfoy stayed that way. Even if it meant putting up with his very nosy, very dramatic friends. Even if it meant spilling his guts and losing everyone else he loved. He just wanted to see Draco like this more, happy and himself. It was addictive, and Harry had never been good at holding back.