Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Say My Name	By : Thunderbird Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 30143 -:- Recommendations : 10 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
A/N: As always, thank you so much for the reviews! I've got a serious case of the warm fuzzies over here from all your kind words.
More angst! Sorry, can't be helped. (After all, what is a Harry/Ginny breakup without the commensurate Ron Weasley freakout that must follow?) But there is also plenty of Drarry development for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!
Chapter 4: Freedom
Harry awoke suddenly, for a moment thinking he was back in a tent, in the Forests of Dean, at dawn. But he quickly took in the open curtains of his four-poster, the stone walls of the bedroom, and the window where gray morning light was streaming in, and he relaxed, remembering. The war was over. The Horcruxes were destroyed. Voldemort was dead.
He wondered what had woken him so early on a Sunday morning, and then he heard it, a rustling of fabric and the creak of a chair, and he turned his head to see Ginny sitting against the far wall, watching him. He felt a spike of adrenaline, remembering their painful conversation the night before, how she had left, tears still clinging to her cheeks.
She wasn’t crying now. She was just staring.
“Sorry if I woke you,” she said, her voice soft.
“That’s all right,” Harry said, sitting up. He was suddenly aware that he was naked. Not that Ginny hadn’t seen it all before, but he hugged the sheets around his lower half anyway. “What… um… how long have you been here?”
She gave him a wry smile. “Not long. Just a few minutes. I didn’t really sleep last night and I… well…”
That, Harry believed. She was pale and drawn, her eyes puffy and surrounded by dark rings of tender skin. He felt a stab of remorse, knowing he was responsible.
“It all happened so suddenly last night,” she went on. “It all happened so fast.”
Harry swallowed. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t handle things very well.”
Ginny nodded, not bothering to argue that point. “Yes, well, I felt pretty shitty when I got back to Gryffindor tower.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
She ignored him and plowed on. “But I think the space was good, because I had time to think.” She took a deep breath. “I won’t pretend to understand why you reacted the way you did, or why you are suddenly rethinking everything. The war has messed us up in different ways and maybe this is just how you have to deal with it. You’ve got a lot to figure out, Harry. I wish you wanted to let me help you but obviously you don’t want that.”
Harry grit his teeth and bit back his automatic response. Ginny seemed to be acquiescing, accepting their breakup, but she still managed to be condescending about it, as though she knew what he needed but was selflessly giving him space to figure it out for himself. It appeared she still could not acknowledge that the questions he had about his future were legitimate.
“I do have a lot to figure out,” he said. “I definitely have more questions than answers at this point. And I do think it’s better if I try to answer them on my own. I don’t want to be pressured into any particular choice, and that’s what I was feeling from you.”
He caught Ginny’s grimace before she smothered it. He figured she wouldn’t like that last bit, but he felt the need to say it, nonetheless. She needed to understand why he needed some distance from her.
“You said that I wanted you to be something you couldn’t be,” she said, and Harry nodded. “Well, I don’t think that’s fair. You don’t know what I want.”
And you don’t know what I want, Harry wanted to retort. But that’s not stopping you from telling me anyway. Of course, he knew better than to say it aloud.
“I think...” she went on, “that it’s the other way around. Or that you’re confused about what you want.”
She looked at him meaningfully, and the first thing that popped into Harry’s head was, Malfoy. Did she know, or at least suspect, that Harry was feeling a curious attraction to the Slytherin? Or perhaps it was bigger than that, broader. Perhaps she suspected he was attracted to men as well as women. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that she had caught him unconsciously checking out Dean Thomas, or her brother, Bill, or any of the other wizards Harry had thought were fit over the years. Perhaps she thought he was questioning his sexuality.
But the look was gone as quickly as it came, and Harry wondered if he had simply imagined it.
“Maybe someday, things will be different,” she said, “and we can think about getting back together.”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “Maybe.” He wasn’t sure, at this point, and he didn’t want to give her false hope. But he didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had.
She inhaled shakily, pulling the long sleeves of her pajama shirt over her fingers and bringing a thumbnail to her mouth. “Merlin,” she said. “This hurts.”
“Yeah,” Harry said. He reached a hand out, offering comfort. “Do you want to-“
“No,” she said quickly, recoiling as though his arm were a viper. “No, that’s not… I can’t. I… can’t. I can’t stand it. I have to go.”
Harry suspected she was about to succumb to tears again and didn’t want him to see. And if he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he was glad she wasn’t seeking comfort from him. He knew now more than ever that his decision, although sudden and unexpected, had been the right one. He could not be with Ginny. Not right now.
She left, and Harry sat in silence for a few minutes. It was still early. He wasn’t really hungry yet, and he didn’t really want to be around other people anyway. So he decided to go flying.
***
It had been the right decision. He had found the Quidditch pitch completely empty, and was able to spend a couple of hours on his Firebolt, leaving all his troubles on the ground. There was nothing like speeding through the air, practicing flips, spins, and dives, to take one’s mind off things.
When he did finally get hungry, he called for Winky, who was happy to bring him scones and a mug of tea from the kitchens. He sat on the grass, warmed his hands with the hot drink, and thought.
What would he do now? The possibilities were limitless. The whole of the wizarding world was open to him now. But what did he want?
To help people. He had meant what he said to McGonagall. He wanted to do good in the world. But she had been right, too. There were many ways to do that.
He could look into Healing. The project he was doing with Malfoy intrigued him more than he thought it would. And he was no stranger to injury, and not at all squeamish around blood. But did he have the marks for it? The training was intensive, as much as Auror training, at the very least. Did he want to go through that? There was always Mediwizardy, which required less training. He would probably make a good Mediwizard.
And then there were all the children, the war orphans, many of whom were not getting the help they needed. There were a lot of children who had lost their parents, and not a lot of families who could take them in. Maybe he could do something about that. He was a war orphan himself, after all, and he knew what it was like to feel unwanted.
But he didn’t have to decide today. He had months. He had all the time he needed. The realization gave him a rhapsodic thrill. He could do what he wanted, when he was ready to do it. He was free.
He finished his tea and decided it was finally time to head back to the castle. He had needed some time alone, but he knew he would eventually have to face the music with Ron and Hermione. They would want to hear from him what had happened with Ginny. He might as well get it over with.
He entered the 8^th year common room with windswept hair and his broom over his shoulder. The room was fairly full, many 8^th years choosing to spend their morning catching up on work or chatting by the fire. Harry spotted Malfoy in a corner with Zabini and Parkinson, scratching away with his quill. Hermione and Ron were not far from the Slytherins, occupying a loveseat and holding hands while they read, their fingers entwined. The sight was somewhat sickening in its cuteness.
Harry laid his broom against an armchair and then sat down in it, across from his friends. They both looked up at the same time and took in the sight of him. He knew, the moment he saw Ron’s face, that they had already spoken to Ginny.
“What did you do?” Ron asked, his voice dangerously low.
“Ron…” Harry began.
“What. Did. You. Do?” he asked again, his voice louder this time.
Harry sighed and closed his eyes. How did he explain this without making it sound like he was blaming Ginny? Ron would definitely not appreciate that.
“Ginny was crying all through breakfast this morning,” Ron went on. “Crying. She wouldn’t tell us what happened, except that you two had broken up, and you weren’t there. You were just gone. You left us to deal with it, and she won’t talk.”
“I know I hurt her,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice low and hoping Ron would take the hint. With the quietness of the common room, he had no doubt that most of the students could hear them. “But it was the right thing. We both agreed it was. Don’t think it isn’t hurting me too.”
“The right thing? The right thing? Are you kidding me?” Ron stood, ignoring Hermione’s attempts to get him to calm down. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you? After everything she’s been through, you really thought now was the right time to suddenly change your mind and break her heart?”
“That wasn’t my intention,” Harry said. “But we had a really tough conversation last night and then again this morning and we decided-“
“No,” Ron interrupted. “No, she would never… You did this. You did it. Not her. This is on you.”
“Yeah, ok, to an extent,” Harry said. “But-“
“It’s been barely five months since we lost Fred,” Ron said. “You know how hard that was on her, on our family. She can’t lose anyone else, not now.”
Harry was aware that the common room was completely still, no doubt listening with rapt attention, but there was nothing he could do about it now. And he wasn’t about to let Ron put all the responsibility for dealing with their family’s loss on his shoulders. “I don’t think it’s right to expect I would stay in a relationship where I’m unhappy just because we happened to go through a war. It wouldn’t be good for Ginny or me. It wouldn’t be good for anyone. And,” he pressed on, as Ron rolled his eyes dramatically, “I’ve lost plenty, too. You think this isn’t hard for me? You think I wouldn’t make a decision like this if I wasn’t sure it was the right thing?”
“It’s not the same thing,” Ron said. “You can’t compare the losses. Fred was our brother.”
“He was my brother, too.”
“Not by blood,” Ron countered. “Not even by law.”
Ron’s words might as well have been a Stinging Hex, for all the pain they inflicted.
“That’s low, Ron,” he said. “That’s really fucking low.”
Ron swallowed and wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “You’ve ruined this. It was going to be the four of us.” He gestured between himself and Hermione. “It was going to be perfect, and you’ve completely ruined it.”
“It wasn’t perfect,” Harry said. “It was far from perfect. Ginny and I are not you and Hermione. We’ve never understood each other the way you two do. We’ll never be as strong together as you two are. That’s just the way it is.”
Ron seemed to be chewing on that, but finding he didn’t like the taste. “’That’s just the way it is,’” he mocked. “’That’s life.’ ‘What will be, will be.’ Enough with the fucking platitudes. They’re getting old.” He reached for his book and his bag and turned back to Harry. “I don’t recognize you at all.”
And with that he walked away, heading for the boy’s side of the dormitory.
There was a long, lingering silence, before the scratching of quills and the quiet hum of conversation picked up again. Harry looked at Hermione, who patted the seat next to her. Harry stood and joined her on the loveseat, putting an arm over his eyes. “I figured he would be upset,” Harry said finally. “But I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Give him some time,” Hermione said. “You know how much he hates change. He had a picture in his head of how things were going to be, and now he has to adjust.”
“It’s not fair.” Harry realized he probably sounded petulant, and he tried to make his voice calm again. “I won’t be held hostage just because he has decided who I should date.”
“It’s more than that, Harry.” She reached over and rubbed his knee. “You know it is. Ron thought we would all be family. He thought your children and our children would be cousins. He thought you two would be Auror partners, and we would be going to Christmas at the Burrow every year and raising our children together. He talks about it all the time. It comforts him. It helps him cope.”
“I would have thought,” Harry said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice, “that given everything we’ve been through together, he would already consider us family.”
“Oh, Harry. He does. He already does.”
“Not by blood,” Harry spat. “Not by law.”
“He shouldn’t have said that,” Hermione said softly. “I know he didn’t mean it.”
Harry shook his head. “Ron thinks I don’t know about loss, but what he can’t understand is that without you and the Weasleys, I have no one. Everyone else is dead.”
She took his hand. “You have us, Harry. You will always have us.”
“Not if the Weasleys can’t forgive me for endings things with Ginny.”
“They will. I know they will.” She brought his head to rest on her shoulder, and they stayed that way for a few minutes. “You’ll always have me, you know.”
Harry smiled. “You’re not angry with me, too, for what happened with Ginny?”
Hermione sighed. “I know you would never hurt her on purpose. And I don’t think you should be with her if you don’t want to be. I’m sad for her. She’s hurting. But I trust you, and if you say it was the right thing, then it was the right thing.”
Harry wished, in that moment, that he had the means to express what Hermione meant to him. He had never been the best with words, especially when it came to articulating feelings. But one of the many great things about Hermione was that she understood this about him, and she knew how he felt without him having to say it.
He squeezed her hand and said, simply, “Thanks, Hermione.”
She squeezed back. “You’re welcome. I’ll always love you, you know. No matter what.”
***
After Ron’s row with Harry in front of all the 8^th years, it was no wonder that word of the breakup spread like Fiendfyre, reaching every corner of the school by Monday morning. Wrapped up as he was in his own feelings, Ginny’s reaction, and Ron’s cold shoulder, Harry hadn’t given much thought to the public repercussions. But he felt them, quite plainly, when he entered the Great Hall for breakfast.
There was a lot of pointing and whispering, not that this was unusual. There had been pointing and whispering since the night of his Sorting, his very first night at Hogwarts. But the chatter around him always lessened once people got used to his presence. Now it had picked back up again, and there was no doubt as to why.
Girls were making eyes at him constantly. (And a few boys, too, although their attentions were more surreptitious.) To be fair, there were always people that made their interest clear, whether they knew he had a girlfriend or not, but now that word was out that he was single, the flirting was incessant. Sometimes it was just a piercing and evocative stare from across the room; others giggled in his general direction and whispered behind their hands; some were bold enough to approach and ask about how he was “holding up, after everything that happened.” Harry did his best to brush all such attention aside. But, after a full day of it, it began to feel as futile as pushing against an ocean tide.
His biggest concern was Rita Skeeter. If hundreds of students were now aware of the news, it was only a matter of time before it leaked beyond the castle walls. Coverage of his relationship with Ginny had been patchy, mostly because the two were careful about their privacy and didn’t talk about each other in interviews or statements to the press. But during the funerals, the trials, and the days of recovery afterwards, they were seen out together plenty, and the wizarding world was certainly aware that they were an item.
Harry didn’t think the breakup warranted a headline, and he hoped most reporters wouldn’t either, not when there was so much of the recovery, new legislation, and a few Death Eaters still on the run to occupy their columns. But Rita Skeeter appeared to still have a fixation with Harry and his personal life, and she had shown herself willing to do some digging. There weren’t any hidden skeletons in his history with Ginny, but the thought of Skeeter probing into it still made his skin crawl.
Harry spent most of the week trying to ignore the general student body, but there was one student who he couldn’t help but watch more closely. He found himself curious about Malfoy’s perspective on the breakup. The Slytherin remained at arm’s length, seeming to regard Harry with an indifference that he found absolutely maddening. Yet sometimes, when they were quietly working, Harry would look up only to find Malfoy in the process of looking away, as if he had been staring. It made Harry want to start a conversation, preferably about the fact that he was now single, but he couldn’t find a good opening. He hardly thought, “Hey, so, by the way, I’m single now. What are your thoughts on that?” would be quite subtle enough.
He was also struggling with why he would even care what Malfoy thought of his being single. Because caring implied interest, and that whole notion made Harry feel very… unsettled.
He did finally get his opening, funnily enough, thanks to one of his many admirers.
Harry and Malfoy were in the library, at their usual table, working on the Potions project when a girl, a sixth year Slytherin, approached them and sat down in the chair directly opposite Harry.
“Hi, Harry,” she said, a little breathlessly.
Internally he cursed himself for not finding himself and Malfoy a more secluded spot in the library where they were less likely to be noticed by the giggling hordes. Externally, however, he was all politeness, forcing a small smile to his lips.
“Hi,” he said neutrally. She was a brunette, pretty in a naïve, doe-eyed kind of way, which Harry suspected, given her house affiliation, was intentionally misleading. After a beat he remembered her name: Elena. They had had a couple of small interactions over the course of the term.
“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” she said, her voice laced with a strange mixture of compassion and eagerness.
Harry furrowed his brow at her and said nothing. He knew where this was going, and was hoping to put her off. She licked her lips and pressed on.
“I heard about you and Ginny and I just thought… well, maybe you were a little upset and you needed someone to talk to.”
In his peripheral vision he spotted Malfoy ducking his head, and thought he might be stifling laughter, or at least a smile. It took all of his willpower to keep his eyes on the girl and keep a straight face as he said, “Thanks, Elena. I appreciate that. But I’ll be fine.”
She put a hand on his arm, lightly but suggestively, and leaned in. “That’s good to hear, Harry. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt. I hope you find you’re able to… move on quickly. Just know that if you need me, I’m here for you.”
Malfoy snorted next to him and tried to cover it with a couple of coughs. Under the table, Harry took his foot and placed it on top of Malfoy’s, pressing down in a warning.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said to Elena. “But right now I really just want to focus on my studies, you know.” This was the line he usually used as a deterrent. It was generally taken well, and didn’t leave much room for arbitration.
“Right,” she said, giving him a dazzling smile. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Bye, Harry.”
“Yeah, see you,” he replied, finally letting out a breath once she was out of sight. Malfoy was shaking with silent laughter next to him. “Oh, bugger off, Malfoy,” he said, without malice.
“It’s just…” Malfoy began, and he shook his head. “Witches throw themselves at you, constantly, and you don’t even care.” He was still laughing.
Harry failed to see why this was so funny, but he found he couldn’t fight off a smile any longer. He had never seen Malfoy like this before, really laughing, without the edge of enmity that usually accompanied his snickering. He took some time to enjoy it, even though watching it made his heart do a strange little tap dance in his chest.
“It’s bloody annoying, actually,” Harry said, finally, once Malfoy had gotten control of himself. “Even when everyone knew I was with Ginny, I was still getting propositioned every other week. Now it will only get worse. But I’m glad you find it so hilarious. At least some good will come out of it.”
Malfoy wiped his eyes where tears of laughter had pooled, and it was like he was Ron for a moment, like he was a friend. Harry realized how bizarre it was, that he was having this conversation with Malfoy of all people, like they really knew each other, like they were just two normal students, like Harry didn’t know that Malfoy liked wanking in the shower with Harry’s name on his lips.
“You prefer it were blokes instead?” Malfoy asked, and Harry looked at him rather sharply, wondering what Malfoy was playing at. But the Slytherin simply raised one sardonic eyebrow and waited for a response.
“I’ve experienced that as well, and it’s equally annoying,” he said, not allowing himself to be flustered by the turn the conversation was taking.
“Really? Men throw themselves at you too?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t they?” Harry gave Malfoy a teasing grin, and was rewarded when he saw twin pink spots appear on those pale cheeks. Turning the tables on the blond would never cease to give Harry some satisfaction, after all.
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me. It all bothers me.”
Malfoy let out a frustrated huff. “That’s not what I meant. I meant does it… bother you more with the men, than with the women?”
Harry frowned pensively. “No. Why would it?”
Malfoy was staring at him, and Harry looked down at his parchment, pretending to correct some of his notes.
“Because you’re straight,” Malfoy said finally.
Harry felt his heart rate spike. Was this Malfoy asking… was this Malfoy trying to find out if Harry could be interested? But no, it couldn’t be. Because Malfoy hadn’t asked it like a question. He had said it, like a statement he knew to be true. Harry made himself take a couple of deep (but hopefully silent) breaths, before he decided it was time to clarify.
“I’m not sure if I’m straight or not,” he said, and this time he made himself meet Malfoy’s stare. “I guess I’m still sorting that out.”
Malfoy licked his lips unconsciously. “Sorting out… which you prefer?”
“I already know I like girls, at least,” Harry said. “I’ve only ever had girlfriends. But even so I haven’t had much experience. I liked Cho but it was hard to build on anything when she couldn’t get over Cedric.”
“Yes, I imagine trying to live up to the dead ex-boyfriend would be a challenge,” Malfoy replied with a snort.
For a moment the derision in Malfoy’s tone brought Harry back to their old rivalry, before it dawned on him that the derision was not really aimed at Harry, but rather at the situation. And he truly believed that. Why else would be suddenly sharing personal details about his romantic life with his formal rival, unless he really believed that he would not be taunted for it?
“It was more trouble than it was worth, in the end,” Harry agreed.
“And the Weaselette?” Malfoy said, with something like caution in his tone.
Harry sighed. “That’s more complicated.”
“You ended it?”
Harry frowned again. “It was mutual, I guess. After a couple of… difficult conversations.” He knew he was stretching it a bit. Ginny would not have initiated the breakup herself. But it was kinder to her, he felt, for this to be the story. “We care about each other, but we want different things.”
“You thought you might also like blokes and she didn’t like that?”
Harry had not been expecting that question, and he looked at Malfoy, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. Malfoy visibly flinched in response, then looked back down to his own parchment and mumbled, “I’m sorry. Looks like I finally overstepped my bounds.”
“No,” Harry said, somewhat surprised at himself. Malfoy looked genuinely chastened, and it didn’t suit him at all. Seeing it made Harry strangely uneasy, and he found himself wanting, needing, to put that knowing smirk back on the blond’s face. “I was just thinking about the question.”
Malfoy blinked and looked at Harry again, still seeming uncertain.
“Because we didn’t talk about that, not really,” Harry went on. “When we broke up, I mean. But at the same time…” He trailed off, realizing he had no idea how to put into words what he meant. He sighed, exasperated with himself. “We didn’t talk about it, but as we were talking I was thinking about it, and part of me wondered if Ginny had somehow caught on and was thinking about it too, if that makes any sense.”
“So it was more the subtext of your conversation, rather than the context,” Malfoy summarized eloquently.
“Yes,” Harry said with a relieved smile. “Yes, exactly.” He saw Malfoy’s cheeks pink again, and Harry realized he wanted to see more of that. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t always express myself very well. You’re much more articulate than I am.”
He was rewarded for the compliment by a deepening of Malfoy’s blush. The blond smiled and looked away. “Well, what are you going to do now?”
Harry shrugged, although Malfoy was still not looking at him and may have not caught the gesture. “Explore my options, I guess.”
Malfoy swallowed and looked at Harry once again, and Harry held the gaze, his heart thrumming like a frightened rabbit’s. He tried to think of something to say, anything at all, but the intensity of those gray eyes left him voiceless.
“Agama skin,” Malfoy said suddenly.
Harry blinked, and breathed, and blinked again. “What?”
“To replace the Compacta Gloria leaves. It has the same properties but remains stable when exposed to heat. That was the danger with the leaves, right?”
“Ummm, right,” Harry said, his mind racing to catch up.
“I think you can only get Agama skin dried, though,” Malfoy said, frowning. “It will need to be brewed for longer, and that will throw off the timing for when we have to filter out the praemium seeds before they explode.”
Harry considered that. “Couldn’t we just rehydrate the skin before we add it to the potion?”
It was Malfoy’s turn to blink and stare. “Yes. That is exactly what we should do,” he said finally, his voice full of genuine surprise. Then he gave Harry a wicked grin. “Nice to know you’re not completely useless after all.”
Harry made sure Malfoy saw the roll of his eyes, but the pleased smile he did his best to keep to himself.
***
It only took a week after the breakup for Harry’s fears about the press to be realized. And when the story dropped, it was worse than he could have imagined. Much worse.
He was greeted Sunday morning at breakfast by his own face splashed across the front page of the Prophet and a banner headline that read, THE SAVIOR IS SINGLE: HARRY POTTER OFFICIALLY WIZARDING BRITAIN’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR.
He stared, dumbfounded, at the photo, wondering where Skeeter had gotten it. He imagined, based on the brooding expression on his picture-self’s face, that it was taken during the trials, but it was hard to tell. Looking at it, Harry was sure the photo had to have been magically altered. There was no way his eyes were really that green, or his skin that flawless. And there was a five-o’clock shadow along the jaw that Harry never remembered himself sporting, making him look older, not to mention ruggedly handsome in a way he never was in real life.
He forced himself to skim the article, assessing the damage. There were actually very few details about the breakup itself, Harry was relieved to see. Ginny was hardly mentioned at all, which he felt was for the best. But Skeeter made up column inches aplenty by harping on about Harry’s accomplishments, accolades, acts of heroism, and many admiral qualities which included, apparently, his forthrightness, his sense of loyalty, his selflessness, his modesty, and his “outstanding moral fiber.” She went on to speculate what the future might hold for Harry, whether he would join the Aurors, as everyone expected he would, and what qualities he was looking for in a wife.
Harry was blushing from his hairline down to his toenails by the end of it, and wished desperately that he had brought his invisibility cloak with him to the Great Hall that morning.
“Reading the article, are ya?” Seamus interrupted Harry’s mortified thoughts. “Quite flattering. Think that Skeeter woman’s got a bit of a crush on ya.” He gave Harry a wink, and then nudged Dean, who snickered.
Harry looked around at the table. “If any of you ever considered yourself my friends even a little, then you will incendio every single copy of this paper on sight.”
“No problem, Harry,” Neville chimed in cheerfully. “We know you do really hate that stuff.”
Harry gave Neville a grateful smile, even as Seamus was still teasing. “Nothing doing, Harry,” he said with a grin. “It’s such a lovely picture. I think I’ll get some enlarged so all the girls can have one to hang on their wall.”
Harry threw a half-eaten roll at him, and everyone laughed.
In truth, the teasing did make him feel better. He was glad that his friends thought the article was as ridiculous as he did. He snuck a glance at Ron and Hermione, who had been keeping quiet. Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile, as she had been doing all week. And Ron, true to form, was ignoring Harry completely. He imagined the article had only worsened Ron’s sour attitude about the breakup.
Ginny was nowhere in sight, so Harry had no way of knowing how the article had affected her. Things between them had been awkward but cordial all week. Quidditch practice was a little tense, but that had more to do with Ron, and the fact that the rest of the team didn’t quite know how to handle the new dynamics. Dean, being friends with both Harry and Ron, had become de facto go-between for the two of them, while the rest of the team, all new this year, besides Ginny, scrambled to fill in the gaps.
Harry had a sinking suspicion, though, that Skeeter’s article was going to change things.
***
Harry was really tired of being right. Quidditch practice that night was the worst they had had all term. Ron was his usually silent self, but Ginny’s mood was outright foul. She was belligerent and uncooperative, and most of practice was wasted on trying to get all three Chasers to successfully execute the plays that had been practicing for weeks. A week ago, they had it down perfectly, and a victory against Ravenclaw was all but guaranteed. Now, though, Harry was genuinely nervous. The first match of the season was inching ever closer, and if Ginny didn’t snap out of this soon, they were in serious trouble.
By the end of practice, Harry was exhausted. The only thing he wanted was to fall into bed and stop thinking for a few hours. But he couldn’t, because he still had a Charms essay to finish, which was due first thing in the morning.
Schoolwork had been piling up, and it was the worst week for it. Between the breakup with Ginny and the ever-growing fixation with Malfoy, Harry wasn’t getting much rest. Something had to change, and soon.
But first things first, he had to solve the problem in front of him. He was relieved to find the 8^th year common room deserted, once Dean and Ron trudged up to bed, and he settled down near the fire with parchment, quill, and Charms text to start writing. It was slow going, as his brain was nearly running on empty, but he pushed onwards.
Harry had nearly finished the essay when the portrait hole swung open and Malfoy emerged through it. He had clearly come from another late-night shower. The words from Harry’s essay may have been swimming in front of his face by that point, but Harry was still awake enough to take in Malfoy’s still-wet hair, thin white t-shirt, and gray Muggle pajama bottoms that hung off of his slim hips. Malfoy looked delicious all relaxed and casual, and Harry couldn’t help staring, or the physical response that came with it.
Malfoy noticed Harry sitting by the fire and gave him a once over. “You look like shit, Potter,” he said simply.
“Mm,” Harry agreed, not bothering to get offended. He knew being overworked and a lack of sleep probably made him look like an Inferius, all pale and gaunt. But he didn’t have the energy to care.
Malfoy walked over to a nearby table and picked up the copy of the Prophet that was resting there. He held it up for Harry to see, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So you’re officially wizarding Britain’s most eligible bachelor now, hm?”
Harry scowled at him. “If you say another word about that fucking article, Malfoy, I’ll hit you with so many hexes you won’t know your arse from your ankles.”
Malfoy kept grinning, sitting himself in the armchair opposite Harry. “I was only going to compliment you on the excellent photograph. No need to be so touchy.”
Harry huffed. “That’s not really me.”
Malfoy looked at the paper again, and then back at Harry. “I hate to break it to you, Potter, but it’s definitely you.”
“No, I mean… they’ve touched it up or something. I don’t really look like that.”
Malfoy stared at him skeptically, but didn’t say anything.
“What are you doing up so late?” Harry asked finally, surprised that Malfoy was choosing to remain in his company.
The blond shrugged. “I like showering at night, when everyone else has gone to bed. I get no privacy otherwise in this place.”
“But you have your own room,” Harry countered.
“It hardly feels that way. Blaise is always barging in unannounced to bother me. And Theo’s room is adjacent to mine. I hear him and Pansy fucking like kneazles just about every night.”
Harry snorted in amusement. “Have they not heard of a Silencing charm?”
“It would appear they have not,” Malfoy replied drily. “Or they don’t care. Or they live to torment me.”
“It’s probably the third option,” Harry said.
“Probably,” Malfoy agreed. He adjusted his neck against the back of the armchair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Harry was momentarily distracted by the sight. “What are you doing up, then?” Malfoy’s tone had taken on the acerbic quality he liked to use when he was going to give Harry a good ribbing. “Wallowing in self pity over the fact that you’re handsome, talented, and universally adored? It must be such a hard life you lead.”
Only Malfoy could turn such a generous compliment into such a scathing insult.
“No,” Harry said simply. He knew Malfoy was trying to wind him up, and he wasn’t about to let him.
“Pining after the Weaselette, then? Regretting your decision?”
“No,” Harry said again, this time allowing himself a small smile.
“Got yourself a new girlfriend, already, hm?”
“Hardly,” Harry said, all out grinning now. “I’m saving myself actually.”
Malfoy let out a bark of laughter before stifling it. “Saving yourself? It’s a little late for that, I would think.”
Harry shrugged. “There are a lot of pureblood fathers who don’t seem to mind. I get men offering their daughter’s hand a few times a week these days.”
Malfoy shook his head. “You must be careful with those, Potter. Never take an offer sight unseen.”
“One of them was from Gustav Greengrass. His daughters went to school here. They were both Slytherin, I think. Not bad looking, by any stretch.”
“Yes, you’re right. Daphne is our year, but she’s completing her education at home, I believe. And they sent the younger one, Astoria, to Beauxbatons.”
Harry smiled. “I’m only saying, I have good prospects.”
“Which daughter did he offer?”
“Oh, I think it was pretty clear that I could have either.”
“You could ask for both, and see how he takes it,” Malfoy said.
“Now there’s an idea,” Harry said.
They sat smiling at each other for a few seconds, and it gave Harry a moment to realize just how much he liked this version of Malfoy: someone he could really chat to, who was still irreverent about his fame but also laughed at his jokes and genuinely listened when he spoke.
“My father was in negotiation with the Greengrasses for a while, actually, before the war,” Malfoy said suddenly, pulling Harry out of his reverie.
Harry absorbed that. “For you, you mean, and one of his daughters…?”
“To marry, yes,” Malfoy said.
“Oh.” Harry wasn’t sure what to say.
“Astoria’s a bit young, but Daphne would not have been so bad. We got along all right, as these things go. And we would only have to be together the once, to produce an heir, and that would be that.”
Harry’s brow furrowed in thought. “You would have been able to tolerate an almost entirely sexless marriage?”
Malfoy smiled wryly. “The marriage would be sexless, yes. That doesn’t mean my life would have to be.”
Harry stared at Malfoy in surprise, but said nothing.
“My wife and I would have an understanding,” Malfoy explained, as though Harry were being particularly thick. “It’s not uncommon among arranged pureblood marriages.”
“I get that part,” Harry said. “I’m just surprised you would agree to it. Why not try to find someone you really loved and were attracted to?”
Malfoy seemed exceptionally pleased that Harry had asked the question. “It’s a bit difficult to find a wife with all those qualities when it turns out you’re about as gay as a niffler in a goldmine.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Harry burst out laughing. Malfoy continued to look pleased with himself.
“You have a point there, Malfoy, I’ll give you that,” Harry said, once he had stopped chuckling. “Well, what about now? Still looking for the pureblood trophy wife?”
“It was my father’s expectation,” he said breezily. “My mother has always been more concerned with my happiness, thankfully. She knows about my sexuality, and she doesn’t care. And what with my father being locked up for the next twenty years, there’s hardly anything he can do. I am free to do as I wish. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”
It was the first time Malfoy had brought up the trials, and Harry’s role in obtaining freedom for Draco and Narcissa both. It was the perpetual hippogriff in the room of their burgeoning friendship, or perhaps one of many, and Harry reminded himself to tread lightly. “It was the right thing to do. You made a difference in the war. Your mother saved my life. It was only right.”
“You always do the right thing, then, don’t you?” Malfoy said, and though there was some scorn in his tone, he sounded like he really believed it.
“Not always,” Harry said, and Malfoy reacted with a surprised raise of the eyebrows. But Harry didn’t particularly feel like venturing down that road, so instead he asked, “So you don’t care about having an heir.”
Malfoy frowned. “I would love to have a son, or a child in general. Multiple children. But there are many ways to have a child, even if you’re bent, like me. I don’t need the pureblood wife and the pureblood heir, like my father always envisioned.”
They had come to the point of it, the one thing that was still stuck in his craw when it came to Malfoy. Harry opened his mouth to ask the question, the thing he really wanted to ask, then closed it again, afraid of ruining the comfortable rapport they had established.
“Just say it, Potter,” Malfoy said, sensing his hesitancy. “I know you have something on your mind. You’re easier to read than Tales of Beedle the Bard. So just say it, and I will react with all the dignity and poise that is befitting of a Malfoy.” He did a funny little wave with his hand.
It took a moment for Harry to realize that Malfoy was actually poking fun at himself, or at least his family name. It was hardly something he expected, but it spurred him on.
“Do you really believe in all that pureblood stuff?”
Malfoy tilted his head and stared at Harry, but he looked thoughtful more than anything. Finally he raised a finger and put it to his lips, and then he spoke. “There is a difference,” he said, “between purebloods, and Muggleborns, and half-bloods, for that matter.”
Harry felt his insides deflate, but he made himself focus on Malfoy, who clearly wasn’t finished.
“The difference is not in magical power, or talent, or intelligence. As much as we purebloods would like to believe it is, there is too much empirical evidence to indicate otherwise. While I loathe to admit it, your Granger is a prime example.”
Harry suppressed a smug smile, with great effort. He never thought he’d see the day that Malfoy praised Hermione.
“But there is a cultural difference, and I don’t think that should be overlooked. The way a pureblood is raised is different from the way a half-blood is raised, and Muggleborns come from a completely different world altogether. I believe we have made mistakes in the past, integrating those of Muggle parentage into our world without acknowledging the difference. They should come in more prepared. They should understand the history of the witches and wizards that have come before them, not just in the classroom, but in the…” He paused, looking for the right word. “...ethos of the school, in the culture itself. We have spent so much time obsessing over blood status that we lose sight of our history. The magic is what matters.”
“So a Muggleborn is just supposed to leave their heritage behind when they enter Hogwarts?” Harry countered.
“No,” Malfoy said. “They don’t have to abandon it. But magic is a part of their heritage, too, and they need to understand that just as thoroughly, even if they didn’t grow up in it. Pureblood ideology, in some ways, comes from a fear of being diluted, not in literal blood, but in tradition. There are distinctions between the Muggles and magic people in terms of the way they live their lives that must be preserved. The more Muggleborns enter the population, the more Muggle culture begins to seep into wizarding culture, and the lines blur.”
“Hm,” Harry said, eyeing Malfoy for a moment. “You want to preserve wizarding culture, yet here you sit, wearing Muggle pajamas.”
Malfoy took a deep breath, then released it. “One cannot deny that there are things that the Muggles simply do better than wizards. Clothing is one of those things. Art, literature, and music are also superior, in my opinion.” Harry stared at him, caught somewhere between grinning and gaping in disbelief. “I have no qualms about wearing Muggle clothing, or listening to Muggle music. But I don’t want the only thing to distinguish us from Muggles to be that we happen to be able to do magic. There is more to us than that, there is more to our culture than that.”
Harry considered that, conceding that he could see Mafloy’s point with a reluctant nod of his head.
“So,” Malfoy went on, “if I did have an heir, whether he was pureblood or half-blood, I would expect him to understand his history, what it means to be a wizard, and what it means to be a Malfoy. There are traditions that are a part of my heritage, and I would not want to lose them. The actual blood status is of little importance to me.”
“Is that outlook different from your father’s?” Harry asked. “He wanted you to find a pureblood wife, right?”
Malfoy sighed. “My father was dogmatic in his beliefs for most of his life, because he had to be. When the Dark Lord was alive, there was no other option. But in my childhood, when the Dark Lord was not in power, I saw my father’s more pragmatic side. He promoted pureblood ideology because it benefited him to do so. Anything that favored purebloods favored him and his family, so of course he would further such an agenda. Whether he really believed that purebloods were magically superior… that’s hard to say. It’s possible that he wanted me to marry a pureblood for status alone, and not because he actually believed it would make me produce a more magically powerful heir. Either way, it took me a while to understand the difference. But I am naturally skeptical, and I inherited pragmatism from both my parents, so eventually I began to question the ideology. By the time the Dark Lord was living in our manor, such beliefs meant nothing to me. Survival was the only thing that mattered.”
Malfoy’s eyes had taken on a haunted look now, and Harry decided to move quickly off the subject.
“So you do intend to have a son, to carry on the Malfoy name.”
Malfoy shrugged. “Ideally. It would certainly make my mother happy, and, I owe her that much, at least. But such things are a long way off. I have my Potions mastery to think about, and whatever career I want to pursue afterwards. And I have to meet someone worth my time.”
“A challenge in and of itself,” Harry said.
“All too true, Potter,” Malfoy agreed.
Harry closed his eyes briefly, and considered all that Malfoy had just said.
“You should go to bed,” Malfoy said, and Harry opened his eyes to look at him. “You look ready to pass out at any moment.”
“I can’t just yet,” Harry said, remembering the homework assignment he had been slaving over. Malfoy had been a welcome distraction, but he actually had to finish the thing, before the night was over. “I still have to write the conclusion for my Charms essay.”
Malfoy reached out a hand. “Give it here,” he said.
“No.” Harry stared at the Slytherin, incredulous. “You’re not going to do my homework for me, Malfoy.”
“Oh, stop being such a goody-Gryffindor,” Malfoy said, his arm still outstretched.
“It’s not that,” Harry said. “It’s just that Flitwick is sure to notice that the final paragraph isn’t in my handwriting, or my words. I would ever get away with it.”
“What a Slytherin way of thinking,” Malfoy said, sounding vaguely impressed. “But I don’t intend to write it for you. Just give it here.”
Reluctantly, Harry handed over the parchment. “Do you need the quill as well or…”
“No, no quill,” Malfoy said, studying the parchment. “Sweet Morgana, Potter, how does one even begin to decipher this chicken scratch?”
“I was tired,” Harry said defensively. “It’s not usually that bad.”
Shaking his head, Malfoy pulled out his wand, the hawthorn one that Harry had returned to him after his trial. He tapped the parchment once, and some of the words glowed white for a moment, before copies of the words lifted from the page like ghosts rising from graves. The words started arranging themselves into a paragraph, which hovered in midair before settling itself delicately at the bottom of the essay. Malfoy released the spell, then handed the parchment back to Harry with a satisfied smirk.
“There you are. The main points from your essay, summarized magically in your own words, in the form of a conclusion. No more writing needed.”
Harry stared in amazement. “Where did you learn that?” he asked.
“I mastered it my fifth year,” Malfoy said, still smirking. “I wouldn’t have survived all the OWL coursework without it.” He stood. “Well, my work here is done.”
“Thanks, Malfoy,” Harry said, feeling dazed. “I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Potter,” Malfoy replied, his voice suddenly devoid of humor. He gave Harry a small, soft smile. “Get some sleep.”
Harry stared at the completed essay, listening as Malfoy’s footsteps faded up the staircase and dissolved completely, wondering how deep he was going to let himself get with the Slytherin.
Pretty deep, it seemed.
LLHati: Thanks! I’m with you; as a straight person myself I have no qualms about reading or writing M/F pairings (in fact, most of my original fiction is M/F). But I do occasionally enjoy a little man-on-man action, especially Drarry. I myself am looking forward to when Harry “shuts Draco’s snarky mouth,” as you say, with some appendage or another (or many) ;)
Whitmore: Thanks for saying so! I’m not inherently anti Harry/Ginny, but I have always questioned if Ginny could ever really get over her hero worship of Harry and see him as a real, complete, and imperfect person. For the purposes of this story, I’ve decided she’s just a bit immature and naïve, rather than the way some other fics paint her, as malicious, or even psychotic. I don’t buy that for a minute.
djaddict: You’re welcome! It needed to happen, and I’m glad it’s done. And thanks for the props on the breakup scene! I was going for realistic and uncomfortable, and to me, there’s nothing more so than breaking up while naked! Been there, done that :)
Dedicated_Reader: Such generous praise! You’re making me blush ;)
I think that Ginny is definitely a bit of a fangirl… unlike Draco, which is why I’ve always liked him and Harry together. Writing their banter has been my favorite part of this project so far. Hopefully there will be more tingles to come!
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