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The first letter appeared apropos of nothing. It had been a few weeks into the term - their last, desperate chance at living a year without adult worries or unspeakable dangers - and the trifolded, creamy parchment was simply waiting on the small side table near the fireplace. Each eighth year student (and really, there were tragically so few of them) was given their own room in a quiet, upper floor wing of the castle. They were comfortable and cosy yet Harry couldn’t shake a bit of unrest at what could just as easily be considered solitary confinement. His own insecurities aside, Hermione served him a bit of logic and helped dispel the worst of it.
They were all adults now and being given privacy was a privilege. And, in the case of some students (Harry included), it was a matter of safety. Having a secured room of refuge from overzealous fans - or worse, vengeful vigilantes - was a much needed change. With the added stress of the terror-filled nights many of them still experienced, single rooms seemed to be the smart move.
So when Harry woke one Sunday morning in September to a mysterious letter by the cushy armchair he had yet to break in, his guard was naturally raised. He actually didn’t notice it for quite some time, stumbling straight into the small attached bathroom without his glasses then ignoring Hermione’s knocks on his door to crawl back into bed. If the situation was reversed - Ron staying at Hogwarts for another year with Hermione off on her own - Harry would have felt more inclined to get up and accompany his friend. But as it were, he knew the witch would have at least fifty things to do before lunchtime that did not involve his hindrances and that she wouldn’t begrudge him getting extra sleep, since it was still very much a precious commodity.
Harry managed a couple more hours of fitful rest before admitting he wasn’t going to feel any better. Slipping his glasses on and blinking the world into focus, he finally got up and started rooting around his wardrobe for acceptable clothes. After successfully identifying a pair of clean(ish) jeans and a well-worn Weasley jumper, he checked the small clock ticking on the mantle and was relieved to find it was still lunchtime. That’s when he saw it.
He stepped over to the letter with a frown, maintaining a cautious distance. It seemed innocent enough, just a harmless folded paper with his name written in elegant penmanship on the outside, but its presence alone in his supposedly magically secure room was ominous and unwarranted. Harry had had too many years of random, unexplained (and oftentimes life threatening) shit happening to him that alarm bells were ringing in his head.
After shooting off the many disarming spells he knew and coming up clean, his impatience and curiosity eventually got the better of him and he picked it up. When nothing world-altering or immediately painful occurred, Harry unfolded the letter and began to read the elegant script.
I don’t think I’ve ever had more time than these past couple of years, really, to ruminate on my life and the lives of those around me. Starting from the nearest then moving out to the farthest... Well, that would be you, wouldn’t it? Although I can’t help but arrogantly claim that I believe myself to be closer than most to some degree, at least in my own deluded world.
Returning has been surreal at best and ill-advised at worst but here I am and there you are. One would think having saved the world and coming out relatively unscathed you would be doing better for yourself. But anyone with half a brain should be able to see how you, out of all, have clearly suffered the most. It irks me that your friends are not taking better care of you although I can only guess that is due to no one’s fault but your own. You always did put others before yourself and endured in silence, no? Stop that. I cannot take a guess at how many lives you have left but perhaps you should start living less recklessly.
And that includes taking care of your health - not just avoiding wandering into danger. It is painfully obvious that we are all struggling to get proper rest these days and the haggard look you somehow manage to wear well is a clear indicator of your own sleeping habits. You’re not taking Dreamless Sleep, are you? It is a very nasty thing to form a dependence on. A good late night remedy I’ve adhered to since childhood is warmed milk mixed with lavender and honey. I’m sure all of the house elves would fall over themselves to prepare a cup for you at any hour of the day.
But enough of my ramblings... It’s not like you would ever listen to me, anyway. Just...take care of yourself, will you?
Harry read through the letter a few times, utterly confused. There was no signature or other indication of who the sender could be. Even though its contents weren’t malicious in nature, surely this was some strange mix-up? But no, his name was written on the outside, despite not being mentioned directly in the letter. Harry scratched his head, unsure of how to feel about it. For the most part he felt oddly...comforted by the roundabout yet well intended words.
In the days and weeks following the Battle, everyone was either on eggshells around him and the other survivors or aggressively cheerful in the wake of Voldemort’s demise. Harry had tried to keep to himself as much as possible, especially not wanting to insert himself unnecessarily around the Burrow, where the grief was most palpable. And as much as he let Hermione check in on him, he believed her presence and care was better spent on Ron, especially since they would be apart during the school year. So he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth in his chest at being seen by this anonymous person and hearing their refreshingly unfiltered thoughts.
Stowing the letter away in his desk drawer, Harry headed off to lunch with a small smile on his face. And, if he took a slight detour through the kitchens to chat with the house elves, that was his little secret.
✵
The second letter had appeared roughly two weeks later, and by then Harry had practically forgotten about the first. Being back at Hogwarts was both a curse and a blessing. Harry still had just as little direction regarding his post-war life then as he had before (which was to say, none) and spent his days frivolously. He was usually found sitting in the eighth year common room most evenings, listening to the calming voices of Neville, Luna, Ginny, and others while letting his mind wander aimlessly. Some nights Hermione would sternly direct him to study in the library with her to ensure he didn’t immediately fall behind in his coursework. It was easier to focus on little things like exams and papers rather than how he was supposed to face the entire wizarding world once he left school.
But most of the time Harry found himself lost in his own mind and watching those around him. There were only twelve returning eighth years: seven boys and five girls. Or, three Gryffindors, three Hufflepuffs, five Ravenclaws, and one Slytherin. It was no mistake that out of all four houses, Slytherin was the smallest and most subdued at the welcome feast. Each first year that was sorted green and silver seemed to shrink in on themselves and walked stiffly to their table.
It was a good thing that the eighth years sat separately toward the front of the hall, otherwise Harry was worried there would be real signs of hostility from the start. The lone blonde head - with hair left long and loose as if to act as a barrier between him and the world - that he used to pick out from across the cavernous room now sat frighteningly close by, although ducked and expressionless. Draco Malfoy was required to complete his eighth year with no incidents as part of his sentence but it was no surprise that none of the other Slytherins had returned, leaving the once constantly attended boy by himself.
Now that he thought about it, Harry had actually rarely seen his once archrival since the start of term feast. Draco was only ever fleetingly spotted in public spaces like the common room or the library and Harry was honestly lucky if he made it on time to one meal a day. They were in a few of the same N.E.W.T. level classes, but he always sat in the very back and was one of the first to leave. Presumably, then, the other spent most of his time holed up in his room. Harry supposed it was for the best, although he believed they had parted on somewhat neutral terms after Draco’s trial and as such had no more cause to rekindle the animosity between the two of them.
So while life was safe it was to a monotonously routine level and Harry’s eyes immediately widened with interest when he returned to his room late one evening to find another letter addressed to him.
As much as it frustrates me more than anyone else, walking these halls is a constant and neverending reminder of you and your ubiquitous presence. Which in turn makes me consider how that must make you feel and is a mental quandary I do not wish to spiral over every other day. But I guess this is also the self serving part of my writing, which it seems is in some degree to extrapolate my thoughts regarding you.
How are you, after everything that has been done to you, still so unerringly heroic? I saw you consoling those first years the other day even though it looked like you would rather be trampled by raging centaurs than guide the wailing lot to their next class unaccosted. The gossip of your noble excursion that made you extremely late for Charms had even circulated to my ears by the end of the day.
Once upon a time I would have thought that much like those ridiculous stories the press ran on you, your do-gooder deeds were simply for show. But no, it truly seemed like you were so far past your wits the next fool to approach you would have gotten a barely legal hex for their trouble. Either way, I struggle to fathom why you do the things you do at such great cost to yourself. But on behalf of those scared eleven year olds...thank you. Not that there aren’t a million other things I should be thanking you for, but I have to start somewhere. I suppose it is cheap and easy to say after the fact but if only there were more people like you in the world, then maybe war wouldn’t have been such a sure thing.
It’s good to see you looking better, too. Much less death-warmed-over than before. Now I have some silly notions of hope that things can improve...perhaps one day even me. There’s another tally for your positive role model count.
Harry had read the letter while curled up in the squishy armchair, being warmed through by the flickering flames and the cup of lavender honey milk the house elves prepared for him every night since it was first suggested. He had been pleasantly surprised to find how the drink relaxed his mind and helped him find longer stretches of sleep than before. Whether or not it was a mental trick related to the positive association with his mysterious penpal was not something he had the wherewithal to examine.
His cheeks heated for completely separate reasons, however, when he read the stranger’s praises of his behaviour. Harry remembered the incident for it had truly tested his patience for discriminatory bullshit. He didn’t die in a fucking war to have first years - first years! - bullied by upperclassmen. So what if they were sorted Slytherin? Merlin, they were just children. If he could use his fame for any good, it would certainly be to strike some fear into the hearts of sanctimonious pricks like Zacharias. Harry should have done much worse than threaten to report him to McGonagall and yell at him to pick on someone his own size but he was tired of fighting fire with fire.
More importantly - in terms of Harry’s priorities, at least - was the fact that he must have seen the writer of the letters and didn’t even know it. He tried to remember exactly where he had been throughout the whole ordeal, but having walked away from the Charms corridor to bring the first years to their Potions class in the dungeons, he may as well have passed the entire school.
Whoever they were, they seemed to be an interesting person with quite a lot of inner turmoil (something he could definitely relate to) and Harry wondered why they didn’t just talk to him in person. Or even what the point of the letters were, especially since he couldn’t reply. Conversations were generally more fun with a responsive counterpart, right? Those questions aside, he still had no idea how they were even getting the letters into his room either. Perhaps Harry should have brought it up with Hermione when the first one appeared - given what a flagrant breach of security it was and of course he remembered second year - but somehow this felt inherently different and a bit like something precious he wanted to keep to himself, at least for the time being.
✵
Harry didn’t have to wait nearly as long for the third letter, as it came only a few days later. However, it was woefully short and unsettling not in its content but in its presentation. Thus far the letters were always meticulously penned in the finest of cursive (which led Harry to believe the writer was a girl) but this one was written with a lopsided and shaky hand. He wondered if the writer had simply changed and that now there were more than one individual sending him mysterious letters, but somehow he felt that the voice of the third seemed to match the first two.
Merlin, but I had forgotten how you look when you fly. I will probably stab myself to death with my quill after this embarrassing lapse of judgement but who could fault me for waxing poetic over the objective beauty that is your sublime flying? How you command the skies and bend the air to your will, slicing through at speeds and angles no mortal safely should. (Remember what I said about recklessness?) Any professional quidditch team would commit crimes to recruit you, but as wonderful a sport it is, I have to declare you would be utterly wasted in such a position. No. Someone like you was born to fly freely. The confines of a single game or pitch would only hold you back.
It took him a little extra time to decipher the messy words despite its brevity, but Harry felt like he would sprout wings and fly all on his own. After the last time he had ridden a broom, he wasn’t sure if he would ever fly again. But Ginny had “encouraged” him with that damn hex of hers to give it a go and organised an open pick up game of quidditch for the eighth years to participate in. Once more being in the sky and pulling off wild manoeuvres while chasing the tiny snitch erased all doubts in Harry’s mind. He had missed flying and quidditch like a lost limb - even more disappointed that eighth years couldn’t play on house teams now that he remembered what he was being denied.
How had the writer seen him? Were they also playing in the game? There were infinite vantage points around the castle from where the pitch could be spotted, especially once they were high in the air. So Harry sadly had no new leads on their identity but at least was able to glean a new fact about them in that they clearly were passionate about flying and quidditch. Maybe with enough details he would be able to piece together their identity bit by bit.
✵
A couple days later Harry was once again running late to class - this time, Transfiguration - and couldn’t help but smile remembering when McGonagall threatened to transfigure him and Ron into pocket watches to keep each other on schedule. Harry was just about to turn the corner when down the adjacent hall he heard low mumbling and what could possibly have been whimpers of pain. He bit his lip, the words of the second letter ringing in his ears, before cursing and sprinting down the hallway.
“What the fu- Stupefy!” Harry shouted, instantly drawing his wand and sending a jet of light toward his target.
Zacharias was blown back from where he stood over a prone form, falling to the ground with a dull thud from the stunner. Harry shot off a Patronus to the Headmistress and rushed over to the student on the ground. The colour drained from his face as he saw rumpled blonde hair and patches of exposed pale skin that was starting to bloom with bruises. His heart twisted in horror when he saw that Draco was gingerly clutching one hand to his chest - it was tightly bound in bandages and had obvious signs of having been repeatedly stepped on.
“C’mon, Malfoy,” Harry said. “Let’s get you to the hospital wing.”
He tried to help the other boy up but suddenly Draco nearly shoved him away and began shaking his head furiously.
“N-no,” he stammered. “Have to...get to class. Can’t be l-late.”
“Fuck,” Harry cursed.
There probably would be bastards in the Ministry vile enough to try and use tardiness or missing class for any reason against Draco. Forcing down the rage that was building in his gut, Harry took a deep breath and started to help him up again.
“Fine,” he relented.
Draco seemed to go slack with relief and allowed Harry to hand him his bag and get an arm under his shoulder. They hobbled along clumsily while Harry shot surreptitious healing charms at the worst of Draco’s surface injuries. By the time they made it to the Transfiguration classroom, taking the last empty desk at the back, Draco’s limping was less pronounced and he no longer looked like he had a run in with an angry boxer.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, trying to discreetly tame his tangled hair.
“Don’t mention it,” Harry whispered back, shrugging.
He was so caught off guard by Draco’s gratitude that he almost missed the professor’s next words.
“Now that everyone is here, I have an announcement to make. Part of your final course evaluation will be researching an area of Transfiguration that will appear in your N.E.W.T. and choosing a high levelled spell from that field to experiment with and modify in some way. I know this is a daunting task but fear not, you have until the spring to prepare your findings and it will be a partnered project as well. You may say hello to your partner as they are who you are currently sitting beside.”
Several groans went up throughout the classroom but Harry and Draco merely looked at each other in shock. Although it seemed like Draco was schooling his expression, Harry swore he could see unease and perhaps even fear in his steely grey eyes. Their attention snapped back to the front of the classroom when the professor started speaking again.
“For the remainder of the class I want you to start brainstorming potential topics and spells. You may also run any ideas by me and receive feedback on them. A written proposal at least one foot long will be due by next class.”
The room began to break out in small conversations as pairs began discussing the task at hand. Harry and Draco remained silent for a few more moments, awkwardly looking at each other out of the corners of their eyes.
“I’m...sorry,” Draco said, clearing his throat. “I’m sure if you explained the situation, you’ll be allowed to change partners.”
Harry shocked himself by immediately shaking his head in refusal.
“No! Er, I mean, lucky me, right? You’ve got to be the smartest person in the room after Hermione, and I’m including the professor.” Harry tried to give an encouraging smile but might have only managed an uncomfortable leer. “That is, if you are okay with working with me.”
Draco’s eyes widened in surprise and a light blush coloured his cheeks, ones Harry was desperately glad were no longer marbled by bruises.
“I have no objections,” he said cautiously before adding, “as long as you fairly pull your own weight.”
Harry grinned and nodded, earning the tiniest of smiles in response.
“So, erm, how are you feeling?” he asked. “What happened to your hand?”
Draco’s expression shuttered and he instinctively hid his right hand under the desk. Harry mentally thumped himself.
“Shit, I don’t mean to pry, honest. Just uhm, worried.”
The other boy swallowed thickly before answering.
“I’m fine, thank you. Luckily I have pain potions from Madam Pomfrey for my hand in my room. I...missed a step several days ago and ended up breaking my wrist. It was still settling but now…” He sighed deeply. “I suppose I need to get it checked again for any misalignment thanks to Smith’s foot.”
Harry growled when he remembered how he had found Draco at Zacharias’s mercy.
“That fucking git,” he seethed. “McGonagall will give him hell, don’t worry. This won’t happen again.”
Draco smiled wryly, his lips pulled tight in a grimace.
“While I appreciate your saintly optimism, if it’s not him there’s still a long line of others eager to take his place.”
Harry frowned, preparing to doubtless say something completely off the cuff but was stopped by a looming presence behind them.
“Come now, boys,” the professor clapped her hands. “Save the chit-chat for later, get out your books and hop to it!”
The two mumbled their assent and hastily pulled out their textbooks and sheets of parchment, flipping through the pages blindly.
“Alright, Potter,” Draco said quietly. “In the interest of not failing this class, please be honest. Do you have any clue regarding what you want to do the assignment on?”
“Nope,” Harry laughed nervously. “Haven’t the foggiest.”
The other boy rolled his eyes and scoffed softly - a familiar combo Harry was amazed to find comfort in when not paired with disparaging intent.
“Figures,” Draco sighed. “We’ll do this, then. I’ll come up with a list of options that I am interested in and you can pick the one out of those that appeals the most to you. Does that sound fair?”
Harry goggled a bit, surprised that Draco was even considering his opinion at all. Hermione was wonderful in the way that she made all the decisions and simply delegated work, but it was certainly refreshing to be given a say.
“Er, yeah. That sounds great, actually,” he said.
Draco nodded and began slowly moving his quill about with his left hand, leaving a scrawl of wobbly text across his parchment.
“Oh, uhm. How about you tell me what you want to say, and I’ll write it down?” Harry suggested.
“Right,” Draco muttered, tapping the tip of his quill in frustration before crumpling the piece of paper in his fist. “Yes, do make yourself useful then, Potter.”
Harry rolled his eyes but made a show of flourishing his quill and dipping it in ink with great aplomb.
“Whatever his royal prattishness wishes,” he said, affecting the most posh accent he could manage (which really, just meant that he was imitating Draco).
Draco snorted but seemed grateful for Harry’s charitably good natured attitude towards his prickliness. He began to thumb through his textbook for a specific page then started dictating once he found what he was looking for. They worked with a smooth efficiency and by the end of class, had an extensive list of potential topics.
“Well, I need a bit more time to do some extra research and narrow down the candidates,” he said while Harry shook out his cramped hand.
“Alright.” He struggled to recall what day of the week it was, gathering up his things. “How about we meet in the library after lunch on Saturday to finalise the topic and work on the proposal?”
Draco agreed, standing quickly and looking eager to leave before the halls got too crowded with students heading to their next lesson.
“If that’s all, then,” he said, taking a few steps to the door.
“Malfoy,” Harry said without thinking, feeling the heavy weight of Draco’s gaze on him. He was about to offer to walk Draco to the infirmary when he stopped himself, wondering where the sudden inclination had come from and certain that it would not have gone over well. “Erm, don’t forget to get your wrist looked at,” he mumbled instead.
The other boy nodded wordlessly before slipping out of the classroom. Harry sat motionless for a few moments, staring blankly at the spot Draco had previously occupied not too long ago, when a sudden tap on his shoulder caused him to jump.
“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione said apologetically. “I wasn’t sure if- I mean, when you were going to show so I ended up sitting next to Mandy. What happened? Is everything alright?”
Harry got up and they began to walk, weaving through the packed hallway.
“Yeah, I think?”
“You don’t sound very sure,” Hermione frowned.
“Well, it’s not alright that Malfoy got jumped by bloody Smith,” he hissed quietly, not wanting to give other pigheaded students any ideas or spread Draco’s business about, for that matter. “I wish McGonagall would expel him to set an example.”
“That’s horrible,” she said, but Harry could see a bit of conflict on her face - no doubt remembering the days when she was mercilessly on the receiving end of Draco’s scorn.
“It’s just lucky I got there when I did,” he continued. “He was insistent on not going straight to Madam Pomfrey so I helped him to class and well, as you saw, we ended up partners.”
Hermione nodded her head in understanding.
“And that bit is what you think went alright?”
“I guess?” They turned a corner. “He was, I dunno.” Harry shrugged. “Really different. Not nasty, that’s for sure. Surprisingly tolerable. All I’m saying is you didn’t hear us brawling in the back so I suppose that’s something.”
“True,” Hermione mused with an enigmatic look on her face and a wave of her hand as they split off in opposite directions. “Just be careful, Harry.”
“I always am,” he replied with a cheeky smile, earning an exasperated one from his friend.
✵
It had been a while since Harry received another letter, but with Draco on the forefront of his mind the mysterious correspondence had taken a back seat. The Saturday of their promised meeting arrived quicker than he was ready for, but Harry figured he had faced worse things than an afternoon with Draco. The other boy was already waiting for him at a table in the library, several books spread open around him. His face was fixed into a neutral expression yet somehow Harry felt a nervous energy coming from him.
“Sorry’m late,” he said, quickly taking a seat from across the blonde.
Draco merely shook his head and pushed a sheet of parchment with neat print on it toward Harry.
“Your wrist all better, then?”
“Thankfully there was no further damage but I’ve been able to take it easy after purchasing a charmed self-writing quill.”
Harry nodded, inexplicably feeling a surge of relief over the news.
“Wow, this is some list,” he commented, surveying the paper and trying to not let his eyes already glaze over one minute in.
“It was difficult to narrow things down but I believe any of these would make worthwhile topics of investigation.”
“Er, I swear I’m not saying this as a cop-out, but which would you pick?”
Draco exhaled strongly, causing his long fringe to flare out slightly in a very Hermione-like manner. For some reason Harry felt like he was in for a long lecture on a subject he probably knew very little about.
“Well, if we’re ranking the topics based on sheer difficulty, Trans-Species Transfiguration with a human element would undoubtedly take first place. As you should know, Potter,” he paused to raise an eyebrow and give Harry a pointed look, “while almost conceptually similar to becoming an Animagus, they are two completely separate magical theories. For example, if you recall from the Triwizard Tournament, during the second task Krum had cast a Trans-Species Transfiguration spell on himself to reshape his head into that of a shark. Meanwhile, achieving an Animagus form is originally reached through spellwork and potionry but the actual act of accessing said form is more of an ability once unlocked. Additionally, one has no control over what shape their Animagus form takes.
Both are incredibly complex pieces of magic but for the nature of our assignment, only the former would apply. So, along those lines I was considering a partial Trans-Species Transfiguration spell with the theme of improving the five senses. There are obviously features of animals that have evolved for keener senses than we humans have, and intentionally adopting just those bits would be valuable. Are you still with me, Potter?”
“Right, totally.”
Harry’s eyes were dry from not blinking and he hoped he wasn’t drooling. Confirming that his captive audience still had a pulse, Draco continued on undeterred.
“Conjuration of living things would most certainly be the next hardest, scaling in difficulty with the complexity of the organism you wish to conjure. Simple creatures like birds and snakes are the easiest but there have been no successful conjuration attempts at anything even close to as sentient as a human. Plus, even at lower levels, the conjuration of beings can very easily produce extremely disturbing and disastrous results.”
“So you think snakes are simple, huh,” Harry snorted.
He let out a yelp when Draco reached across the table - not a difficult feat with his long limbs - and flicked Harry in the forehead.
“I swear to Merlin, if you’re not taking this seriously-”
“Christ, calm down, Malfoy!” Harry put one hand up in placation and rubbed his stinging forehead with the other. “It was just a joke! I promise I am, really.”
Draco settled back in his chair, flushing slightly as he realised how much he had raised his voice.
“Sorry for overreacting,” he muttered, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I just can’t afford anything but perfect marks this year.”
A tight lump formed in Harry’s throat. He was fully aware of the unfair and impossible standard Draco would be held to, sure to be discriminated against no matter what he did. To some it would be seen as justice, but it only made Harry’s stomach turn.
“No,” he shook his head. “I should be the one to apologise. I didn’t mean to make light of your situation. I think the, uhm, trans-whatsit thing sounds pretty interesting. We should go with that.”
“Yes, a real vote of confidence,” Draco drawled but seemed satisfied with Harry’s decision and apology.
From there the tension fully dissipated and they worked on separate parts of the proposal in companionable silence. Harry had completely lost track of the time when Hermione suddenly appeared beside their table.
“Hello, Malfoy,” she said politely before turning toward Harry. “Harry, are you still joining us for dinner?” Hermione motioned over her shoulder to where their other friends were waiting by the doors.
“Shit, is it already half five?” He pushed his glasses up and scrubbed his face, eyes strained from researching in the dim light. “Yeah, gimme one sec.”
Harry began organising his notes and packing away his belongings. A rogue thought popped into his head and before he could think too hard on it, exited through his mouth.
“Malfoy, would you like to join us?”
Both Draco and Hermione’s eyebrows shot up and Draco’s eyes jumped between the two Gryffindors. His brow was furrowed in hesitation and Harry elbowed Hermione roughly, speaking up before the other boy could decline.
“It’s no problem, right, ‘Mione?” Harry knew he was being selfish and putting his friend on the spot, but for some reason he felt very strongly about it.
“Uhm, of course not. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”
Draco looked extremely uncomfortable but after several moments of deliberation, seemed to come to a conclusion.
“Alright, if you insist,” he said quietly.
Harry beamed, delighted if not simply because he got his way.
“Brilliant, I hope they have treacle tart tonight.”
✵
He should have been a bit more alarmed with how quickly Draco became situated beside him and got along with his friends - and Harry had endless love for their acceptance and tolerance, the rest of the school really needed to follow their example - but apparently it was just that easy. It wasn’t lost on him that had Ron been around things might have been drastically different or at least significantly more tumultuous, but Harry was sure that if his and Draco’s amicable acquaintance lasted past Hogwarts (and wasn’t that an interesting consideration for the future) Ron would eventually come around.
The first dinner had gone without major incident - although it was perhaps a tad on the overly formal and stilted side - so Harry kept inviting Draco to spend time with him. The other tended to politely turn him down more often than not for social hangouts, usually preferring to retire to his room for most of the evenings if they didn’t have study plans, but Draco seemed dogged in his acceptance of meal invites. Since that initial dinner, he seemed shocked to the point of offence at how little Harry usually ate.
Harry hadn’t thought much of it since his schedule was all over the place to begin with and his friends would sometimes bring him back a plate if he struggled to make it to the Great Hall on time. But Draco very patently threatened to transfigure Harry’s ears into elephant ears - much to everyone’s amusement, some friends they were - if he didn’t eat more than a few bites of his food. Quite fond of his normal, human ears, Harry acquiesced with little resistance.
In that way Draco eventually became a fixture at the eighth year table during mealtimes whenever Harry could be arsed to go, but the Slytherin had taken things one step further and seemed to bring it upon himself to carry food on his person at all times. He would be sneakily forcing light sandwiches or other snacks upon Harry during long study sessions at the library or even in between classes. Harry was convinced Hermione had cast her Undetectable Extension Charm on Draco’s robe pockets specifically for this reason and that was a scarily sobering thought.
Still, he found he rather liked Draco fussing over him. He couldn’t explain why having the other boy henpeck him was accompanied by a strangely fuzzy feeling - Hermione’s nagging was already plenty draining enough, even though he knew it came from a place of love - and an equally contented one upon seeing Draco’s smugly satisfied face whenever Harry listened to him. Perhaps it was just the sheer novelty and bizarreness of witnessing a Draco who cared about anyone but himself - let alone Harry - in the first place. But despite his interesting new friendship to keep him preoccupied and the still unsolved mystery of the secret letters, the further they got into October, the more surly and distanced he became. Halloween was always tough on him and with the end of the war - as well as arguably the last time he would ever be comforted by his parents’ ghosts - only a few months behind him, Harry was feeling their absence even more acutely than usual.
Things came to a vicious head with him reverting to his childish tendency of lashing out when cornered, all because the other boy had only meant to try and console him.
“How could you possibly know what I’m going through?” he shouted. “You, who grew up spoiled by both of your parents. Not to mention how you always took great enjoyment in pointing out my unlovable orphan status.” His eyes burned and his throat tightened painfully. “I don’t need pity from someone like you.”
Harry would never forget how quickly Draco’s expression had shuttered - his impenetrable walls raised even higher than before - but in that moment all he could think of was wielding his words with the intention to hurt like he was hurting. And after all the promises he made to himself that he would never cut someone open again - especially Draco of all people - he proceeded to feel infinitely shittier. So he spent the days leading up to the anniversary of his parents’ deaths locked in his room in a self-imposed, angst-induced exile.
He sighed from beneath the wrinkled bed covers, peeking his head out just enough to glare balefully at the growing pile of assignments he had abandoned on his desk. By that time, all of Hogwarts should have been in the Great Hall enjoying the lavish Halloween feast. Harry’s stomach growled, the empty gnawing in the pit of his stomach mirroring the sharp heartache in his chest.
However, in his effort to isolate himself from the world and all its pressing responsibilities, he completely missed the familiar trifolded parchment waiting patiently atop the side table. Harry’s eyes widened, finally finding interest in doing something other than laying in bed for the first time in weeks. He shuffled over to the quaint sitting area, wondering just how long ago it was sent, and immediately began to read the letter.
I cannot begin to try and understand how difficult this time of year is for you. Thinking of my own complicated relationship with my parents - problematic and fallible as they are - I still wouldn’t ever give them up for anything. It’s depressing and puts your narrow worldview into perspective when you realise that something as basic and essential as having parents can be taken for granted. Although an idealistic and ignorant whim, no child should find themself navigating through life without guidance or assistance. For life is indeed every bit the cruel bastard I’m sure you’ve found it to be.
But yet, can those jagged voids not be filled by other meaningful relationships? Your friends and adoptive family will never be able to neatly fill such cavities, but surely the point is that an imperfectly filled hole is preferable to a completely open one. With the love of your friends packed as tightly as possible, there will be much less space for the grief to rattle around in.
And I don’t mean to claim this as a solution, but you are only stubbornly doing yourself a disservice and extending your anguish by pushing away those who care about you. Regardless, perhaps I have overstepped my bounds either way. Of course life and its associated pains are not that simple. I only wish that you are well and taking comfort from those you allow into your world. I can now safely say from personal experience that true solitude is a terrible, heartbreaking thing. But you, Harry, are not alone.
Harry didn’t even realise he was crying by the time he had finished reading, blinking in surprise as his teardrops fell onto the paper, as if the letter was absorbing his sorrow. He collapsed into the chair, crushing the parchment against his chest and sobbing harder than he had ever remembered. The words were so straightforward and effective that Harry felt rather stupid he had let things get to such a point. He knew his friends’ support was invaluable and oftentimes undeserved - and that they would never turn away from him, either - but the important thing was he needed to be open to accepting their help in order to begin healing.
His cries eventually tapered off into sniffles as he tried to pull himself together. It was one thing to feel sorry for himself and his lot in life, but he couldn’t keep letting such negative emotions control him. Harry felt scraped clean albeit in a good, cathartic manner. What unpleasantly remained behind for him to deal with, however, was the rotten feeling of how he had treated Draco. He hoped that their budding friendship wasn’t already irreparably damaged by his trademarked brand of idiocy.
Carefully refolding the letter and slipping it into the pocket of his hoodie, Harry splashed his face with cold water in the bathroom and tried to look less like a miserable wretch. His eyes were swollen - rimmed with red - and his cheeks were blotchy but he felt objectively lighter. A sudden knocking startled him out of his thoughts and although he had previously ignored all attempts at contact from his friends, he was determined to put an end to his wallowing.
Harry nearly tripped over his feet in his rush to open the door before whoever it was inevitably walked away. Once he managed to maintain his balance and wrench the door open, he was stunned to see an aloof looking Draco standing in the hallway, hands gripped tightly around a plate laden with a generous slice of treacle tart.
“Malfoy!” he exclaimed with a surprising amount of exuberance, causing Draco to step back in apprehension.
“Potter,” he said in clipped tones. “You look...not quite good, but better than I suppose I thought I’d find you.”
“Honestly, I feel a lot better. And...I’m really sorry for yelling at you.” Harry nervously ran a hand through his hair. Draco had every right to be furious with him. “You didn’t deserve it at all and I was being a major wanker.”
Draco arched an eyebrow sceptically, pursing his lips.
“I take it then that your little temper tantrum has run its course? Because if not, this tart is going straight into your face, plate and all.”
“Very much done,” he mumbled sheepishly. “And if that’s for me, I would much rather eat it than wear it.”
The blonde continued to glower at him, fingers twitching as if he was still undecided on whether or not to forgive him.
“We can share?” Harry moved away from the door to invite Draco in and gave his best “I know I’m an idiot but I’m really sorry” smile.
After what felt like an agonising eternity, Draco finally sighed heavily and stepped into the room, flicking Harry on the forehead as he passed.
“I have no idea why I continue to put up with you,” he huffed. “For the record, you still are and probably always will be a major wanker.”
Harry couldn’t help the wide grin that lit up his face as he replied, “Well, as long as you do, I think I can live with that.”
✵
The end of the term was fast approaching and autumn was beginning to give way to the biting cold of winter. By the time Harry received the fifth letter, he had been regularly spending all his spare time with Draco - any chance he could get, really. If he had to be completely honest with himself, life just seemed more enjoyable. Better. His nightmares had lessened significantly and he was actually keeping up with his classes thanks to the other boy’s tutoring. Draco seemed to open up more as well, almost always down for impromptu seeker’s games or long conversations exchanged in whispers when they were the last ones left in the common room. For Harry, watching the other fly with a carefree laugh was just as mesmerising as witnessing his rare, quiet smiles while at rest.
Harry never imagined they could ever be friends - and they were, weren’t they - but he also never imagined meeting a version of Draco who was smart but not (too) condescending, witty but not (too) insulting. It was utterly strange and baffling but he found he rather liked the new Draco who was soft yet still endearingly grumpy. So when he read the contents of the latest letter, he was taken aback with offence on Draco’s behalf.
These days all I can think of is you and your incandescent smile. How can you direct it and your perennial warmth at someone so unworthy? You could literally do better by randomly picking someone off the street - Muggle or otherwise - and yet you choose to spend your time befriending a Death Eater way below your station.
And I know it can’t be a trick for you truly lack the capacity for such treachery or dishonour. What value do your eyes with the clarity of jewels see in such a sad, reproachful excuse of a human? Perhaps it is simple charity or a fantastical plan to reform the criminally inclined. If you constantly expose a dark and twisted thing to such radiance, will it too absorb some of that light? Maybe it’s too late for the likes of a damned soul. But also, maybe it isn’t. Either way, trying only makes you a golden-hearted fool and I can’t help but adore you all the more for it.
He frowned at the writer’s obvious dislike for Draco, uncomfortable with the way the compliments toward him contrasted starkly with how they put down the other boy. Was everyone else simply blind? It was exceedingly clear to Harry - who still wore the thickest glasses in the entire school - that Draco had changed. Whether he had changed in retrospect of the war’s end or due to finally being free of his family’s toxic influence didn’t matter. All that did matter was that he was funny, helpful, and considerate. He wasn’t distracted by Harry’s fame and seemed to actually care about his well being - Draco Malfoy was turning out to be a true friend and Harry would always choose him over a thousand fawning admirers.
The letter was relegated to Harry’s desk drawer along with the others, however this time with much less reverence. If this person was such a big fan of his but couldn’t see the good in Draco, then their poor judgement of character must extend to himself as well. Nevertheless, it hurt Harry considerably and muddled his previously positive feelings. The letters were such a source of strength and encouragement for him, just as much as Draco had been. He had thought of the writer as someone who understood and cared for him deeply, but if they couldn’t even see how wonderful Draco was, Harry would somehow have to make it very clear how mistaken they were.
The letter was a grim reminder that there were still people out there who didn’t approve of Draco. Despite being with him nearly every waking moment of the day, Harry was still worried for his safety.
“Malfoy,” he began as they were walking to their next class. “Do you think people are staring at us? Or you? Like, more than usual?”
He had noticed people watching them more often, but Harry couldn’t be sure if it was because they wanted to attack Draco or if it was still strange to see the two of them together. Was the mysterious stranger one of those people standing on the sidelines, harbouring ill intent? Either way, he vowed to be more vigilant for the sake of his friend.
Draco levelled a look at him that somehow wordlessly said both “you are an imbecile” and “are you serious” at the same time.
“As there are several ways to interpret the situation I would say there are multiple answers to your question. However, given the specific circumstances and contextual evidence that I am unsurprised to assume you are doubtlessly unaware of, there is most likely only one correct conclusion,” he deadpanned.
“Real helpful, you berk,” Harry rolled his eyes and snorted. “Now in half as many words, please?”
“Potter,” Draco said. “Surely you can’t be that oblivious.”
Harry raised his shoulders and eyebrows expectantly.
“Everyone’s been looking at you, you absolute reprobate. They’re probably trying to figure out who you’re going to take to the ball.”
“Ball?” Harry gaped.
Draco let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Apparently the professors thought it would be a good idea to lift everyone’s spirits by having another Yule Ball before the holidays. It’s literally been all anyone has been able to talk about.”
“That- That’s an awful idea,” Harry spluttered, remembering his last disastrous ball from fourth year.
“Maybe to someone like you with two left feet and zero class,” Draco smirked.
“Hey! I have...class…” he muttered rather insecurely. “I just don’t fancy dancing while hundreds of people are watching.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Draco hummed. “But anyway, while we’re on the topic,” he continued a bit abruptly, “who are you going to take, then? Ginevra?”
“Ginny?” Harry said. “Why would I ask Ginny?”
The other boy had an unreadable expression on his face as he replied, “I don’t claim to be a master of your affairs, but do I really have to remind you of your own past dates?”
“Oh!” Harry merely shrugged. “We were together before- y’know, everything. I dunno. I’m sure you’ve noticed but after the war I was- am, a mess. I’m not a very deep person but somehow things feel different now. I just don’t think we’re the same people we were, not that I ever had time in the first place to really think about who I was, mind you.” He let out a frustrated breath as they reached their destination and took their seats. “I guess what I’m saying is, I still haven’t figured out what I want yet.”
Draco made a noncommittal noise, nodding sympathetically.
“What about you? Who are you gonna take?”
Harry knocked his shoulder against Draco’s, causing him to scowl and drop his quill.
“No one,” he grunted inelegantly, leaning over in his chair to pick it up. “I’m fairly certain anyone I ask would rather fall ill with dragon pox and miss the whole thing than attend with me.”
It was Harry’s turn to frown.
“Bollocks, what happened to the pompous, egotistical Malfoy I knew?”
“He grew up,” Draco said tersely, clearly not wanting to continue discussing himself. “Either way, if the Headmistress doesn’t make an exception for Weasley to attend, you should go with Granger as friends. I think she’d be rather happy to spend time with you, seeing as how you’re always bothering me these days. It’s a wonder I get any work done at all.”
To emphasise his point, Draco jerked his head toward the blackboard at the front of the classroom that was already covered in notes. Harry scrambled to get out his own quill and parchment to write down what he missed.
Not ready to let go of the topic, he whispered, “Stop trying to change the subject. And you’re being ridiculous! I bet the first person you ask would be thrilled to go with you.”
“Potter, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?” Draco said without missing a beat.
Harry nearly fell out of his chair in surprise as his brain malfunctioned and his mouth opened and closed several times. Draco rolled his eyes and spoke again before Harry could form a proper sentence in his head.
“Never bet against a Slytherin,” he said into Harry’s ear before turning his attention back to the lesson.
Later, Harry wouldn’t be able to recall a single thing from that day’s lecture. All he could focus on was how he thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest and the warmth that flooded his body.
✵
The next few weeks passed in an exhausting blur of classes, homework, essays, and exams. But somehow, Harry still found the time to fret over his increasing self consciousness whenever he was around Draco - which was, still, all the time. Additionally, it seemed the other boy was completely unaware of the impact his joke had left on Harry. It was almost a huge relief when another letter finally made its appearance one quiet evening. He had tried to push the writer out of his thoughts after the previous one, but Harry was happy to welcome any kind of distraction at that moment.
Am I too obvious? Am I not obvious enough? With you, it’s impossible to tell. How infuriating that your cluelessness has the audacity to be charming! One would think that after everything I’ve gone through, I would be smart enough to choose the path of least resistance - or at least, most self preservation. But no, I suppose if I were ever steadfast in anything, it would be in this hopeless pursuit.
However, I am not the sole guilty party in this matter and refuse to take on all the blame myself. Stop calling my name so fondly. Stop looking at me so ambiguously. Can’t you see how much misery you’re causing me? If I have to keep my love wrapped up so that it remains hidden, collecting dust, that’s one thing. But you make it so terribly difficult to do so.
Maybe I am the one being unfair and simply projecting my own thoughts and feelings onto you. After all, the sun is not the one responsible for Icarus’s demise. Apparently set on my course as I am, I suppose all there is left to do now is continue falling, since my descent already began long ago.
Harry wanted to tear his hair out in exasperation. Nothing made any sense! Whose name was he calling? Who was he looking at? He had been trying to find the enigmatic letter writer for months and between them and Draco, felt like he was losing his mind. Could someone have just been sending him gibberish as a lark? Harry was still extremely conflicted and his heart and head hurt in equal parts. Grabbing the other five letters from his desk, Harry stacked them up and left his room in a hurry. He needed Hermione.
The girls’ dorms were at the opposite end of the hallway and he quickly jogged over, passing the sounds of muffled conversations coming from the common room on his way. Harry knocked insistently on her door, praying she wasn’t at the library instead. He let out a small breath of relief when the door eventually swung open.
“Hi, Harry, what’s-”
“Sorry Hermione, I know I should have checked with you sooner, especially in case they were dangerous but in my defence they didn’t seem bad at first? I mean if anything, for the most part they were definitely more helpful than harmful although now I’m not so sure and it’s driving me fucking crazy. What if, what if that was their goal all along? And they were out to get me from the start?”
“Harry, calm down and breathe,” Hermione said, easing him down onto the edge of her bed which was the only surface not covered in books and papers.
Harry didn’t realise he was practically gasping for air as he slowly regained his bearings, feeling grounded by Hermione’s hand on his shoulder.
“Now, tell me slowly what’s bothering you.”
“I- Well,” he paused to exhale then inhale deeply. “Since pretty much the start of the year I’ve been getting these mysterious letters delivered straight into my room. They just appear sometimes and they aren’t signed or anything.”
Hermione raised a thick brow but refrained from commenting, waiting for Harry to continue.
“For the most part they said some nice things about me, which was, y’know, nice. But then they were so hard on Malfoy and really, wouldn’t you agree he doesn’t deserve that anymore?”
She nodded - Harry had been beside himself with happiness when he heard Draco had apologised to Hermione and many of the others he had wronged over the years. Of course all wasn’t forgiven, but nevertheless he was incredibly proud of him for taking the initiative to be a better person.
“So I have no idea what to think anymore and I’m pretty sure I’m being a terrible friend.” He withdrew the letters from his hoodie pocket and shook them in the air. “What do they want from me?”
Hermione bit her lips and took the letters, deftly unfolding the crinkled mess and reading them through. Harry couldn’t help but stand up and pace in between the precarious stacks of books littered about the room. He was lost in the tailspin of his thoughts when Hermione cleared her throat loudly.
“Well?” Harry asked, feeling like he was on the verge of passing out.
“Harry,” she began softly but firmly - he recognized it as her “I love you very much but you listen to me, Harry James Potter” voice. “I don’t believe there is anything nefarious about them.” Hermione neatly refolded the letters and handed them back to him. “They’re just love letters. Not to insinuate they are just anything, of course.”
Harry’s mouth went dry and it felt like he was trying to swallow rocks.
“Why don’t you go talk to Malfoy?” she encouraged gently.
“Malfoy?” At the unusual suggestion, Harry startled back to life. “Why would I talk to him? God, ‘Mione. He would be absolutely shattered if he read that letter about himself.”
Hermione made an irritated noise of distress and immediately got to her feet. She began pushing Harry toward the door - she was certainly stronger than she looked, most likely due to the number of books she was always lifting - until he was shoved right out of it.
“What the hell! You’re supposed to help me,” he pleaded.
She vigorously shook her head, loose curls flying about haphazardly.
“I can’t do anything more for you, Harry,” Hermione said almost clinically. “Maybe Malfoy can give you some insight.”
Harry was about to protest when she shut the door in his face and locked it to the teeth. He sighed heavily and slowly wandered back down the hallway, wondering what Hermione had meant. Perhaps she felt uncomfortable giving him love advice as a girl and directed him to Draco instead. For some reason, the mere thought of letting Draco read the letters filled him with dread. He was practically vibrating by the time he stopped in front of the other’s room, subconsciously aware of the fact that this was his first time visiting.
The knocks felt thunderous in his ears - or was that just the sound of his own blood rushing? After a brief moment, the door opened and he was greeted by a puzzled looking Draco wearing soft pyjamas and a dark green dressing gown.
“Potter? Are you alright?” He frowned, noting Harry’s agitated state.
“Erm, don’t think so. Not really? No.”
Draco lightly grabbed his arm and led him inside, closing the door behind them. Harry looked around wildly, wanting to catalogue every small detail about the room but finding himself unable to focus on anything in particular.
“Potter, I think you’re going through some kind of shock,” he said in a soothing tone. “Here, drink this. It will help you relax.”
Harry glanced down at the delicate teacup Draco held out in front of him, staring a bit manically at the white liquid. He was about to take it in his shaky hands when he was met by the familiar scent of lavender and honey. Harry’s hand jerked uncontrollably, sending the cup and its contents flying across the room. They both jumped back in surprise, Draco looking as if he had been slapped.
“My apologies, it wasn’t anything bad, I promise,” he mumbled in alarm. “It’s just milk with lavender and honey. I have always had a cup before bed since I was a child..."
His voice trailed off and he looked at Harry with dejection in his watery grey eyes. Harry closed his own, hoping to direct more energy to his brain by removing all visual distractions. He felt like he had been drowning for so long, only to finally break the surface and take a lungful of air.
Lavender honey milk.
Protecting Slytherins.
Flying.
Broken wrist.
Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?
Harry’s eyes snapped open. He was simultaneously crushed and freed by the magnitude of his realisations.
“I found you,” he said, starting to feel an all-encompassing giddiness overwrite any other emotion inside him. “It’s you!”
Draco observed Harry with trepidation, slowly taking a step back.
“Potter, what are you talking about-”
“Oh, Draco,” Harry breathed, heart breaking for the other boy.
He suddenly surged forward and gathered Draco in his arms. How could he think about himself in such a lowly way? How could he not see what a brilliant and kind person he was?
“You’re not unworthy,” he assured him, burying his face in the soft blonde strands. “Or dark or twisted or damned. You’re not Icarus either, whoever the fuck that is. But it doesn’t matter because I’ll catch you if you fall, I swear. Every time.”
Draco struggled against Harry’s hold before succeeding in shoving him away.
“What?” he gasped. “Where did you hear that? Who told you?”
Harry looked at him in confusion.
“You did.” He removed the bundle of letters from his pocket. “In your letters?”
Draco snatched one with a trembling hand, letting the others fall to the ground, and quickly skimmed through its contents. His face blanched, eyes wide in horror.
“But- But that’s impossible,” he whispered. “I burned each of these letters in my fireplace immediately after writing them. I never sent any of them. They were never meant to be seen!” His voice raised higher and higher in hysterics.
Harry shook his head, shrugging his shoulders uselessly.
“I don’t know either, okay? They just kept appearing in my room and were addressed to me so I read them.”
Draco let out a wail and turned away, holding his face in his hands.
“Draco,” Harry said, delighting in the way it felt to say his name. “Draco, please look at me.”
Although he eventually turned back around, Draco continued to cover his face. Harry could see his neck and the tips of his ears burning red.
“Were the letters true?” he asked. “The ones about me?”
For a while it looked like he wouldn’t get a response, but finally Draco gave the smallest nod of his head. Harry felt like his heart was soaring. He gently pulled him in closer by the waist and brushed away the loose strands of blonde hair that fell around his face.
“Draco Malfoy.” Harry felt Draco go as still as a statue beside him. “I would be extremely thrilled if you took me to the Yule Ball.”
Silver eyes peeked at him from between pale fingers that slowly began to lower.
“As...friends?” he asked hoarsely. “I don’t want your pity-”
“No, you prat.” Harry snorted and rolled his eyes affectionately, feeling deep satisfaction in flicking the other’s forehead and eliciting a sharp hiss. “As a date.” He cleared his throat and continued less confidently, “With the intention of becoming...boyfriends?”
“Oh.”
Draco’s hands finally settled on Harry’s shoulders and his face was an unflattering patchwork of white, pink, and every shade in between.
“Y-yes... That sounds...amenable to me. We should do that,” he said quietly.
“A real vote of confidence,” Harry laughed, his eyes twinkling like gemstones.
Draco shot him a dark look that was completely ineffective due to his unrestrained blushing. He muttered something under his breath - it could have been the most evil of curses for all Harry knew - but nothing else mattered for in the next moment Draco brought their lips together and suddenly Harry was the one falling, endlessly and decisively. His world was reduced to the pressure of soft skin and the sweet taste of lavender and honey. The infinite confessions Draco had swallowed down were now overflowing, no longer able to be contained, and had finally, finally, reached him. They had found each other.
✵
Dear Harry,
I suppose I should write to you properly - intentionally - although I am still a bit sceptical that this will work. Either way, it’s exceedingly more difficult to speak as honestly as I did before with the knowledge that you will read this.
Well, ironically enough I also might have simply run out of other words to help me prevaricate nor can I brush anything off as a joke. So I will keep this brief and say the words that have and always will belong to you, with the hope that they will never be hidden away again.
I love you.
Draco