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Harry Potter and the Pottermore Problem	By : Phoenixstrike Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2298 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its indicia are © JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. I own none of the copyright, and this fanfiction makes no money.

Chapter List
- 1-Harry Potter and the Pottermore Problem
- 1
Additional Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Pottermore Publishing Rights © J.K. Rowling. I do not own Pottermore, or hold any part of the copyright. No copyright infringement is intended.

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Genre: romance, humour, PWP, crack!fic

Rating: Adult audiences only.

A/N: This is a silly rather pointless short story. I was just fed up of writing angst and wanted a break. A fair warning: although it is canon-complaint (except the Epilogue of Doom), it probably falls into crack!fic territory and has a childish, ooc!Harry, although it’s not insane. This story contains Pottermore spoilers, relating particularly to wand and house selection. Please don’t read if you don’t want to be spoiled. The story contains m/m sex and adult language. This is also meant to be taken as tongue-in-cheek, and is no way meant to cause offence.

________________________________________________________

Daily Prophet 15^th August 2011

POTTERMORE BETA OPENS- MUGGLES AROUND THE WORLD GOING MAD

As first reported in the Prophet back in June, in a bid to continue to improve Muggle-wizard relations, Jo Rowling, Head of the Muggle Liaison Office, Order of Merlin, and official biographer of Harry Potter, has authorised a website telling the life of the Boy Who Lived. Millions of Muggles tried to register for Pottermore’s early opening, which began on Potter’s thirty-first birthday, and today the site has begun to let in the first lucky Muggles who will explore Potter’s life as never before.

‘The more I publish about our hero’s life, the more acceptance our world receives from the non-magical community,’ Ms Rowling told our reporter. ‘I began publishing information about Mr Potter’s life back in 1997 when Voldemort was still a threat to Muggles, and it became increasingly imperative to make them aware of the potential danger they were in, without damaging the Statute of Secrecy. Of course, they believed they were reading fiction, bless them, but the books served their purpose. Millions of Muggles around the world have fallen in love with our world, and with Mr Potter’s adventures in particular. I’m honoured to present his life story in the form of a website*’.

We at the Prophet congratulate Ms Rowling on this wonderful achievement as she continues to work tirelessly to eradicate the fear and misconceptions Muggles hold about our world.

*Please see inside for an explanation of a website, and how they work. See also, ‘computer’.

****

“Yes!” Harry cries in excitement, as he opens his emails that morning. He had insisted on installing Muggle technology in the flat he shared with his boyfriend, citing that it was often much faster and more practical than wizarding methods of communication. Draco had, initially, protested, but when Harry had introduced him to Google and taught him how to search for gay porn, the blond had unsurprisingly changed his mind.

“What?” Draco calls from their bedroom. “Did you win that Twilight box set you’re bidding on from eBay?”

“No,” Harry calls back. “I’ve got my Pottermore welcome letter!” He barely notices Draco dashing into the room and peering over his shoulder as he enthusiastically clicks on the link in the email.

_______

TO: hjpotter@wizardsonline.co.uk

FROM: pottermore@mail.pottermore.com

Welcome, Aurorseeker001! Your Pottermore account is ready! Please click here to begin your Pottermore journey*

_______

Harry excitedly clicks on the link and then the gateway, eagerly making his way through the opening chapter, collecting items.

“It looks just like the Dursleys’ house,” he says, as he explores the cupboard under the stairs and the kitchen. “This is so weird.”

He explores the chapters up to Diagon Alley quickly. He opens his Gringotts account, purchases the school items on his shopping list and, feeling a pang of regret that he couldn’t select a snowy owl like Hedwig, choses a beautiful barn owl avatar, before ‘entering’ Ollivanders. It is time to get his wand.

“Do you reckon this is accurate?” Draco asks. Harry shrugs.

“Only one way to find out,” he replies, and begins to answer the questions.

“You’re not ‘average height’, Potter,” Draco says, pointing to the laptop’s screen. “You’re a short arse!”

“I’m five feet seven,” Harry retorts, stung.

“That’s short for a bloke,” Draco insists. “Be honest, otherwise this won’t be accurate.”

“Fine,” Harry says, changing his answer from ‘average height’ to ‘short for your age’.

He answers all the other questions without interruption from Draco, and clicks on the review screen.

You are: Short for your age.

You have: Green eyes.

The day you were born was: An odd number.

You most pride yourself on: Resilience.

At the deserted crossroads you would: Head into the forest.

You most fear: Small spaces.

In a chest of magical artefacts you would choose: The golden key.*

He clicks on ‘Get your wand’, surprised to realise he is actually a little bit nervous. He needn’t have been.

Holly with phoenix feather, eleven inches, supple.

That will be seven Galleons, please. Thank you for your payment.*

“Draco, look!” he gasps, as he unnecessarily pulls out his own, real, holly wand to compare. “This thing works! It actually works!” Draco laughs, plants a kiss on the top of Harry’s head, and returns to the bedroom to continue dressing for work.

“Call me for the Sorting!” he shouts through.

Harry grins, and continues to explore. The Hogwarts Express and the journey from platform nine-and-three-quarters bring back some very strong memories. It all looks exactly how it did in real life, exactly how he remembers it, as if he is looking at photographs of the time rather than artwork. He remembers his conversation with Draco on the train, and how much he had hated him then. How times change.

He eventually reaches the Sorting Hat chapter, and calls for Draco.

Which road tempts you the most?

-The sunny, grassy lane

-The Narrow dark lantern lit alley

-The twisting leaf-strewn path in the woods

-The cobbled street lined with ancient buildings

Which do you find most difficult to deal with?

-Boredom

-Cold

-Hunger

-Loneliness

-Being ignored

Four goblets are placed in front of you, which would you choose to drink?

-Foaming, silvery liquid that sparkles as though containing ground diamonds

-Smooth, thick purple drink that smells of chocolate and plums

-Golden liquid, which makes sun spots dance around the room

-Mysterious black liquid, which gives the drinker strange visions

Left or Right?

Black or White?

Which of the following would you most like to study?

- Centaurs

- Goblins

- Merpeople

- Ghosts

- Vampires

- Werewolves

- Trolls

Dawn or dusk?*

Harry makes his selections for each question. He clicks ‘next’ after answering the final question, and almost falls off his chair in surprise.

Congratulations, Aurorseeker001

The Sorting Hat has placed you in Hufflepuff*

Harry stares at the screen in disbelief. He keeps waiting for the glitch to right himself, and the yellow and black banner to be replaced with the scarlet and gold of Gryffindor. But it doesn’t come. He swallows thickly. Draco finally lets out a huge roar of laugher, stirring him out of his daze. Harry glares at him.

“It’s not funny!” he yells, before thrusting the laptop into Draco’s hands and storming out of the room.

****

_______

To: hjpotter@wizardsonline.co.uk

From: weasleyisourking@magicalmail.net

Subject: Where did you get Sorted, mate?

Hi, Harry!

Bet you got in this morning too, huh? It’s great, isn’t it? I even got my actual wand! It must mean the site is very accurate. What wand did you get? Me and Hermione both Sorted Gryffindor, of course. What about you? Add me- I’m owlbludger15.

Speak soon, mate,

Ron

_______

To: weasleyisourking@magicalmail.net

From: hjpotter@wizardsonline.co.uk

Re: Where did you get Sorted, mate?

Ron-

Fuck off.

- Harry.

_______

****

“How long are you going to sulk in the bathroom for, Harry?” Draco calls through the door. Harry ignores him. He’s sitting on the closed toilet lid, bottom lip stuck out in a petulant manner, his chin resting on closed fists, whilst his elbows are balanced on his knees. He is also a Hufflepuff. A fucking Hufflepuff.

“Harry!” Draco’s banging is louder now, and his voice is becoming more angry than concerned. Harry continues to ignore him. “Harry, open the bloody door! I need to use the loo! You’ve got till three before I blast the bloody thing open.”

Harry sighs and stands up, crossing to the door and opening it. Draco looks furious, and is also doing a small jig, clearly desperate for a piss. Harry briefly wonders how long he’s been locked in the bathroom and feels a small stab of guilt. Draco pushes past him frantically, heading straight for the loo.

“Some privacy, please!” Draco snaps, as he slips the top button of his perfectly-tailored trousers from the button hole. Harry leaves, not even in the mood to try and catch a glimpse as Draco lowers his boxers. Instead he goes to the living room and logs back on to the Pottermore website. He’s still in Hufflepuff, and he realises he forgot about his Forgetfulness Potion, which is now ruined. Great, now he needs to buy more Mistletoe Berries. He’s clearly as shit at Potions on a website as he was at Hogwarts. He checks the points in the Great Hall. Gryffindor are in the lead. Harry swears at the computer screen before slamming down the lid of his laptop. He knows it shouldn’t matter, and he actually was a real-life Gryffindor, but the rational part of his brain isn’t working. Everything is shot to shit.

****

Draco gets his welcome email the following day. And of course the bastard is Sorted into Slytherin, right after selecting a hawthorn and unicorn hair wand. Harry storms out of their flat without even saying goodbye.

****

_______

To: dracomalfoy@wizardsonline.co.uk

From: weasleyisourking@magicalmail.net

Subject: Is Harry OK?

Ferret Face,

Is Harry alright? I emailed him about the Pottermore Sorting thing and he told me to fuck off. Is he mad at me?

-Ron

_______

To: weasleyisourking@magicalmail.net

From: dracomalfoy@wizardsonline.co.uk

Re: Is Harry OK?

Weasel,

Harry suffered a, ah, disappointment shall we say, with the website you mentioned. I’d like to say he’s dealing with the fact he was Sorted into Hufflepuff in a calm and mature manner, and accepting that said website is simply a game, but that would be a lie; Harry has behaved like a churlish, petulant baby, rather than the adult of thirty-one he actually is, for two days. I will bitch-slap him if he keeps this up.

-D. Malfoy.

_______

****

“But how can choosing dusk over dawn mean I’m a Hufflepuff?” Harry says aloud into the dark, for what is perhaps the twentieth time in three days. Draco awakens, groans and sits up in bed. The alarm clock shows it’s two in the morning.

“Harry,” he replies firmly, with more than a hint of irritation in his voice, “we’ve been over this. More times than should be necessary when talking to an adult about what is effectively a game for Muggles. It’s a website. Not the actual fucking buggering Sorting Hat. It’s. Not. Important. Now shut up so I can sleep.” He rolls over, facing away from Harry, and closes his eyes. He is just about ready to hex Harry’s balls off when Harry digs a finger into his shoulder. “What now?”

“Name one notable Hufflepuff, besides Cedric, I mean,” Harry challenges. Draco sighs, long and deep, knowing the easiest way to get Harry to shut up is just get this over and done with. He switches on his bedside lamp and glares at Harry.

“Nymphadora Tonks,” he replies bitterly, his voice deliberately laced with venom. “My cousin, mother to your godson, who, let me remind you, is also a Hufflepuff; a woman who was a brave, spirited, intelligent Auror, heroine of the Battle of Hogwarts, and who gave her life defeating Voldemort.” His words have the desired effect. Harry shuts up. He even looks a little ashamed of himself. Draco realises Harry’s behaviour must be bad if he’s been reduced to defending Hufflepuffs. He switches off the lamp and rolls onto his side, away from Harry, whom he’s not too fond of at the moment.

****

Insert FB convo- photobucket html for all sites except ff.net, need to enter manually

****

Harry has been sulking for a week now, and Draco is at the end of his tether. He’s withholding sex, he’s making Harry sleep on the sofa, he’s even given the fucking laptop to Ron and Hermione so Harry can’t even go on to Pottermore.

Harry, on the other hand, has been duelling Ron, Seamus and Neville on Pottermore whilst at work, by logging in to the Ministry’s internet network. Draco lazily checks his house points total at work, and notices that Harry’s own house point total has gone up. He realises Harry is on the website in his office instead of working. He sighs heavily, determined to stop the nonsense, and Disapparates to Ron and Hermione’s cottage, where his and Harry’s laptop is currently being stored.

****

Harry is bored. There are no new cases for him at the moment, and all he has to do is paperwork, which he hates and will find any excuse to put off completing. Even at school Harry was never good at time management. He logs on to Pottermore again, thinking a few duels against some Slytherins will cheer him up. But he can’t log on- apparently his account doesn’t exist. Harry re-enters his password, thinking it’s a typing error. Nope, his account definitely no longer exists. He hopes it’s an internal glitch.

He storms up to floor seven, where the newest Ministry department, the Department for Installation and Maintenance of Muggle Technology in Wizarding Dwellings, is located. The computer technician is on lunch. Harry decides to Floo to Ron and Hermione’s during his own lunch hour and try to log on there, just to check it’s still working.

“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione says, balancing her son Hugo on her hip, “but Draco collected the computer about twenty minutes ago.”

Harry has an inkling now as to what has happened, and Apparates home.

“Draco!” he bellows, as he walks through the door. “Where’s my laptop?”

“Draco appears in the doorway, holding the Mac in his hands. Harry all but snatches it, fires the computer up, and attempts to log onto Pottermore.

“It won’t work,” Draco drawls. “I deleted your account.”

“You did what?”

“You heard,” Draco says, and folds his arms defiantly in front of him. Harry scowls and balls his hands into fists menacingly, and in that moment Draco knows he did exactly the right thing. He needs his Harry back, not this crazy person masquerading in Harry’s skin.

“How did you even know my password?!” Harry says, furious. Draco actually laughs at that.

“I didn’t. But it wasn’t hard to guess. ‘MoldyVoldy’ is your password for everything. It is hardly subtle, you know.”

“Why did you delete it?!” Harry yells. Draco’s amused face instantly sobers. And Harry knows that Draco is deadly serious.

“Because you’ve become insane, Harry. You’ve woken me in the night to talk about it, and you’ve called your friends names for having a good-natured joke, but mainly because- and this is the clincher- you’ve behaved like a complete and utter, totally unreasonable little shit over something that… how can I phrase this in a way that will make it sink in this time? That. Does. Not. Matter!” Draco’s voice remains calm but it has the icy tone to it that Harry knows means Draco is furious. “It was delete your account or have you carted off to the Janus Thickey Ward for assessment.”

“But…” Harry begins, but Draco holds up a hand to silence him.

“No, Harry,” he says, and his tone is one of finality. “You can re-register when the site opens properly and get yourself another account, if it means that much to you. One that’s in Gryffindor this time, okay? Because I cannot take another second of this.”

Harry looks at the floor. He suddenly feels awful. He needs to explain how he feels, that the Pottermore Sorting reawakened a long-dormant unease that had existed since his own, actual, Sorting; that he should have been Sorted into a house other than Gryffindor. That his boyfriend has perpetually and cruelly poked fun at Hufflepuff house, calling them ‘a bunch of dunderheads only one step up from Squibs’ and how he’d never in a million years date one. And that Harry was worried Draco would no longer want to be with him because of that. He needs to say this, because he gets the feeling his behaviour recently has done more damage than any of his worries have. To his dismay he realises his eyes are prickling.

“Draco,” he begins softly, putting his laptop down on the sofa and taking Draco’s hands in his, “I’m so sorry.” He begins to talk, tells Draco things he’s never told anyone before, not even Ron and Hermione, about almost being Sorted into Slytherin, and his quelled doubts over whether he really was a Gryffindor resurfacing. He talks about Draco’s prejudice against Hufflepuffs, and shares his own fears of rejection- something he’s never managed to do before. For whilst Harry wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s piss-poor about discussing his emotions.

And Draco listens. He’s silent as Harry talks, and talks, and talks. He finished discussing the stupid website ages ago; but apparently now the floodgates are opened, Harry doesn’t want to close them again. He tells Draco about his insecurities, his self-doubt. He tells him his ultimate fear: that everyone he loves leaves him eventually. He talks about the loss of Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore and Fred. His parents.

“I’m terrified I’m going to lose you, too,” Harry says, and his voice is only barely louder than a whisper. Draco is staring at him, and it’s not the exasperated, angry face of late; it’s softened, warm, and full of love. He smiles and opens his arms wide to Harry, who practically falls into them.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, his vice muffled as he buries his face in Draco’s neck, inhaling the familiar comforting scent. Draco chuckles lightly.

“Oh, Harry,” he says, “you are such a fucking idiot.” And then he captures Harry’s lips with his own, and Harry offers a small moan as he returns the kiss with enthusiasm. It’s been a week now since they exchanged anything more than a perfunctory peck on the cheek at bedtime, and Draco’s soft lips pressed against his, opening for Harry as his slips in his tongue, feels sublime. It’s been far too long since they did this, Harry thinks, as he deepens the kiss, and Draco is returning just as enthusiastically.

“Harry… we, ah don’t stop… need to get back to work,” Draco all but pants, but Harry knows the words are empty. Draco is going nowhere, and nor is he. He’s the Head Auror; it’s not like anyone is going to sack him for taking the afternoon off, and, besides, he was already due back over an hour ago. In lieu of a verbal answer, Harry secures his mouth over the pulse point in Draco’s neck, which speeds up as Harry begins to suck, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons on Draco’s shirt.

“Fuck work,” he mumbles, before returning to his boyfriend’s neck, eliciting a satisfied sigh of pleasure from him, as Draco begins fumbling with Harry’s own buttons.

The rest of their clothes follow quickly, such is their desperation to be together, and Draco has the presence of mind to close the Floo and send a Locking Charm at their door before he slithers off the sofa onto his knees whilst keeping Harry in a sitting position, ensuring that he and Harry are cock to face. Harry is already completely hard, and is desperate for Draco’s mouth, but Draco still has his wand in his hand.

“Hufflepuffs are extraordinarily trusting creatures, you know,” he purrs. “Obscuro!”

The blindfold shoots out of Draco’s wand and wraps itself around Harry’s glasses, completely robbing him of sight. Harrys’ breath hitches, but makes no attempt to remove the blindfold.

“Trust me, Harry,” Draco whispers, and Harry can hear the plea in Draco’s voice; Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything so damn sexy in all his life than Draco’s voice at that moment, and can do nothing but nod his response. The next thing he knows, Draco has uttered another incantation and Harry’s hands are bound behind his back. He’s never been so vulnerable during sex before. He also doubts he’s ever been as turned on.

And, yes, finally, Draco’s mouth is on him, and he’s engulfed in nearly overwhelming heat, and it’s incredible. Harry screws his eyes tightly shut, despite the fact he’s wearing a blindfold anyway, and fights the urge to try and wrestle his hands free so he can fist Draco’s hair. He’s completely at his boyfriend’s mercy, and he knows it. God, he’s missed this, the exquisite sensations Draco has always been able to draw from him. This isn’t going to last very long at all. Harry makes a very loud noise, a cross between a groan and a gasp, as Draco swirls his tongue around the head of his erection, dipping his tongue into the slit of Harry’s cock, then sucking very slightly on the sensitive vein. He’s getting close, he knows it, Draco’s mouth is just far too spectacular, he’s going to come, and it’s going to be incredible…

Draco pulls off Harry’s erection with an audible pop, and is rewarded with a string of colourful and frustrated expletives from Harry in doing so. Harry writhes, he begs, he tries thrusting up to regain contact, but his efforts are fruitless. He can feel Draco’s fingers caressing his thighs, his tongue dipping in and out of his navel, and hands creeping up his sides and burying them into Harry’s hair. Draco’s breath is hot now on Harry’s cheek, and he turns his head, capturing Draco’s mouth once more with his for a fiery kiss.

“Another Hufflepuff trait is patience,” Draco says, breaking the kiss. “Rather impatient of you to want to shoot down my throat already, don’t you think? We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Harry becomes aware of movement on the sofa next to him, then realises Draco is standing on it.

“Selflessness and fair play are two other attributions the Hufflepuff possesses,” Draco lectures. “Don’t be selfish and take all the fun for yourself. Come on, Harry, it’s only fair that it’s my turn now. I want to fuck your mouth.”

Harry’s mouth instantly fills with saliva and his pulse quickens. “Yes,” he breathes, licking his lips and parting them. He feels Draco’s hand grasp his hair at the back of his head, then the head of his cock massaging his bottom lip, before Draco slides in with ease. Harry relaxes his throat and closes his mouth around Draco’s aching erection, desperately wishing he had his hands free so he could take care of his own arousal, which is by now feeling very neglected and frustrated.

Draco thrusts gently but rhythmically. Harry swallows around Draco’s cock as much as he can whilst his boyfriend almost completely withdraws, before thrusting back in again. Harry can hear Draco’s pants of ecstasy, and notices the thrusting is becoming quicker and more erratic. Then, just as Harry is preparing himself to receive Draco’s load, Draco pulls out, clearly with effort, as he lets out a discontented whine at the loss of contact.

“Not like this,” he whispers wantonly in Harry’s ear. “I need you, Harry.”

Harry is quite sure he’s forgotten how to speak by now. He can’t remember ever feeling this aroused. He hears Draco casting a couple more charms: cleansing and lubrication.

“Do you want to watch, Harry?” Draco asks in that seductive voice, and Harry responds with an enthusiastic head nod. “Yes,” he hisses, as soon as Draco removes the blindfold, and the sight in front of him brings Harry’s arousal back full-force. Draco’s hair is darkened from sweat, and is damp, hanging limply around his sculptured face. His cheeks are flushed a dusky pink, his lips full and slightly swollen from kissing. And his eyes are like quicksilver; Harry feels as if he could easily get lost in those beautiful orbs, the pupils of which are huge with lust. He swallows, and can almost feel his own heart rate speed up in response to the vision of pure, unadulterated sex in front of him. Draco has beads of sweat running down his neck and across his clavicle, and Harry leans forwards and licks the droplets off Draco’s chest, marvelling in the salty taste.

“Fuck, Draco, you’re so beautiful,” Harry gasps, a gasp which promptly turns into a moan of pure desire when Draco reaches around himself with slick fingers and inserts two fingers.

Draco fucks himself on his fingers slowly, and Harry is quite convinced this is how he is going to die: Draco bloody Malfoy is going to torture him slowly to death, by performing the most utterly delicious lewd acts in front of him and not allow him to join in, until eventually his cock will explode from desire. He’s close to trying to tear out of the bonds (which he knows will be impossible, given who cast them), or simply begging. He needs to be inside Draco, the urge is overwhelming, at the moment it’s even more important than the air he breathes-

Harry opens his mouth, but Draco prevents the words from escaping with a kiss. He’s removed his fingers, Harry notices, and he’s straddling Harry’s thighs. Draco breaks the kiss and stares deep into Harry’s eyes, before sinking down onto Harry’s extremely ready cock in one go, taking him in up to the bollocks.

“Draco… God,” Harry stammers, as sensation as hot as naked flames and freezing as ice shoot through his spine, and he battles with himself for control. He tries to arch into Draco’s body, but is forcefully pushed back down.

“No,” Draco says, “just lie back and enjoy.” Draco begins to lift his body off of Harry’s rigid member, then impaling himself once more, and Harry doesn’t think he could move now if he tried. He’s watching his cock disappearing into Draco’s slick body, he’s staring at the face of his lover, contorted with absolute pleasure, and he’s looking at Draco’s own erection, thick, hard, glistening with precome, glide in and out of Draco’s free hand. The room smells of sweat and sex and entirely masculine, the only sounds are those of two men in the throes of passion; deep groans, and pants of desire, and whispered words of devotion. The sensations Draco are drawing from Harry are exquisite.

“I see you’ve broken quite a sweat there,” Draco says, somewhat shakily. “Good. Hufflepuffs shouldn’t be afraid of toil.” Harry can tell Draco is extremely close. He’s angled his hips so Harry is hitting Draco’s prostate, and the hand that is wanking himself has sped up considerably. Harry knows that he, too, is about to fall over the edge. With a final hoarse shout, Draco stiffens, clenches tightly around Harry, and comes, shuddering through his orgasm and wringing Harry’s release from him, too. It hits Harry like a bolt of electricity, is almost painful in its intensity, and for those few seconds Harry is aware of nothing else except the sheer overwhelming pleasure soaring through him, before he collapsed back against the seat cushions, panting heavily.

They’re both breathing hard now as they come down from their climaxes. Harry’s wrists are really starting to hurt. Draco must see the discomfort on Harry’s face, however, as he releases the bonds. He makes to get off Harry, but Harry catches Draco’s wrist, pulling it towards his mouth.

“Incredible,” he finally manages to say, and it’s his first coherent word for what seems like hours. He brings Draco’s come-covered fingers to his lips, and inserts each digit into his mouth, sucking it clean. Draco groans.

“Fuck, Harry,” he says. Harry smirks.

“I’m just making sure I’m being thorough and throwing in my full effort,” he replies mischievously. “After all, Hufflepuffs are very dedicated.”

Draco laughs and stands up, performs a couple of Cleaning Charms, and begins searching for his clothes. Harry does the same. He feels so light now, like a dark cloud has been lifted from him. He also feels ridiculous, and a little ashamed of himself. It all seems so silly, getting so worked up over a website. He knows he still has some making up to do to Draco. He also owes his friends an apology for behaving like a total shit for the past week or so.

He’s fully dressed again now, as is Draco. He walks over to his boyfriend and throws his arms around him.

“Thank you,” Harry says, holding Draco tightly. “Thank you for making me see sense.”

“Harry,” Draco says, and whilst his voice and expression are soft, Harry knows Draco is completely serious, “you are a stubborn old mule. You have a temper shorter than Professor Flitwick. You jump head first into things before bothering to take a minute of two to assess the situation.” He kisses Harry deeply, and Harry melts into the kiss. “And you have shown more courage than anybody else I’ve ever met. I’d have died in a room full of Fiendfyre if it wasn’t for you. You are about as Gryffindor as Godric himself, OK?”

And, finally, Harry believes him. He believes the Sorting Hat, from all those years ago.

It’s not worth returning to work now, so Harry opens the lid on his laptop. He logs on to Facebook, where he sees Ginny has posted a Sorting Hat quiz to his wall. Draco is in the bathroom washing up, and Harry figures it can’t hurt to take it, can it? He clicks on the link and answers the questions.

Draco re-enters the room, towelling off his face and freezes when he sees what Harry is doing. He opens his mouth, to tell Harry to stop, or ask him what the bloody hell he’s doing, but he’s out of time. Harry has already hit the ‘submit’ button. He gasps in horror when he sees the screen.

The Sorting Hat has placed you in Slytherin.

Harry ‘humphs’ and folds his arms, glaring angrily at the screen. Draco rolls his eyes.

_______

Finite

_______

Author's notes: *The text in bold in this story followed by an astrisk (Harry's welcome email, wand selection, and his Sorting questions) are all cited directly from Pottermore- it is not my work, and all credit for these parts is to JK Rowling and the Pottermore team.
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Harry Potter and the Pottermore Problem